THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


"My  poor  little  Lydia,"  he  cried  brokenly,  holding  her  to 
him,   comprehending  everything.     "My  poor  little   Lydia." 


THE   SEAS 
OF  GOD 


A  Novel 


FN*<? 


'.  .  .  .Are  they  not  all  the  seas  of  God?" 

— Walt  Whitman 


NEW  YORK 
HEARST'S  INTERNATIONAL  LIBRARY  Co. 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
HEARST'S  INTERNATIONAL  LIBRARY  Co.,  INC. 


All    rights    reserved,    including    tht    translation    into    foreign 
languages,     including    the     Scandinavian. 


BOOK  I 
DREAMING  YOUTH 


2135144 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


CHAPTER  I 


LYDIA  stood  looking  out  toward  the  sunset.  She 
delighted  in  this  hour  of  the  winter  afternoon 
when  glow  was  dying  into  gloom,  in  the  bare  trees 
etched  in  all  the  delicate,  lacelike  intricacy  of  their 
twigs  and  branches  against  the  deepening  orange  of 
the  sky;  and  she  was  deriving  now,  from  this  sad  but 
splendid  sunset  hour,  most  exquisite  sensations,  tinged 
—  pleasurably  —  with  melancholy. 

A  great  evergreen  tangle  of  honeysuckle  clung  to 
one  end  of  a  narrow  porch  that  ran  part  way  across 
the  front  of  the  cottage.  Slats  broken,  or  missing  en- 
tirely, left  conspicuous  gaps  in  all  the  blinds,  and  both 
green  and  grey  paint,  blinds  and  walls,  were  dingy  and 
streaked  from  Kingsville's  fierce  summer  suns,  and  the 
frequent  soot-showers  of  her  winters. 

The  cottage  had  no  distinction  except  one  of  site, 
and  in  Kingsville,  girt  by  its  blue  mountains,  a  beau- 
site  was  so  common  as  hardly  to  constitute  of  itself 
any  distinction  at  all.  For  Kingsville  was  built  on 
seven  hills,  an  old  brick-built  Southern  town,  bristling 


with  church  spires.  "  Built  like  the  Eternal  City  on 
seven  hills  " —  Lydia,  when  a  child,  had  heard  some 
one  say.  What  a  torch  to  her  imagination  had  been 
that  comparison  of  Kingsville  to  far-off  Rome ! 

A  time  had  come  when  she  wondered  why  she  did 
not  hate,  instead  of  love,  Kingsville. 

She  was  wondering  that  this  evening,  for  her  glance 
would  travel  to  a  neighbouring  hill  where  the  old  build- 
ings of  Ransom  College  stood  silhouetted  against  the 
southern  sky,  the  chapel  with  its  little  bell-tower  crown- 
ing the  hill-top.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  the  house 
surrounded  with  great  magnolia  trees,  whose  chimneys 
she  could  make  out  from  the  cottage  window,  she  had 
lived  from  her  earliest  memories  until  Ransom  College 
—  where  her  father  had  given  his  best  years  —  had 
invited  his  resignation. 

She  caught  sight  of  her  father  coming  up  the  brick 
walk.  She  had  realised  his  health  was  declining,  but 
all  at  once  she  became  conscious  that  never  before  had 
he  looked  quite  like  this. 

He  came  in  from  the  porch,  shivering,  and,  saying 
something  about  the  cold,  went  over  to  the  open  fire, 
and  held  his  long,  thin  hands  before  it  to  warm  them. 

Lydia  busied  herself  about  the  table  she  had  set  for 
supper.  Since  economy  in  coal  had  become  a  pressing 
necessity,  they  used  this  sitting  room  for  meals  as  well. 
It  was  an  irking  way  to  Lydia  —  her  tastes  were  spa- 
cious —  an  irking,  poor-folk's  way  of  managing.  But 
she  was  not  thinking  just  of  that  now.  The  fact  was, 
she  could  not  trust  her  voice  to  answer  his  remark  about 
the  weather  because  of  a  sudden  oppressive  sensation 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  3 

in  her  throat.     She  fled  to  the  kitchen  to  escape  the  too 
close  surveillance  of  his  eyes. 

Here,  in  an  odd  flash,  she  caught  herself  thinking 
how  remarkable  it  was  that  the  rosy  glow  thrown  forth 
into  the  dusk  of  the  room  from  the  little  openings  in 
the  front  of  the  cookstove,  and  the  gentle  singing  of  the 
tea-kettle,  should  convey  to  her  —  homely  sight  and 
sound  that  they  were  —  an  impression  of  something 
definitely  reassuring.  ...  It  could  not,  could  not,  be 
so  alarming,  really,  she  said  to  herself,  that  look  of 
her  father,  as  for  an  instant  she  had  allowed  herself 
to  believe. 

II 

She  set  about  slicing  a  piece  of  cold  boiled  beef  with 
feverish  activity.  To  have  something  definite  like  this 
to  do,  and  to  do  at  once,  was  to  make  yourself  half 
believe  that  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  had  occurred 
—  no  terrifying  impression  just  been  received !  She 
opened  the  oven  and  tested  the  potatoes  to  see  if  they 
were  done.  Through  a  back  window  she  saw  her 
father,  who  had  gone  out  to  the  coal-shed  in  the  rear 
lot,  set  the  loaded  coal  buckets  down  half  way  the  short 
distance  from  the  shed  to  the  steps  of  the  cottage,  and 
place  his  hand  on  his  back. 

Before  he  could  lift  the  buckets  again,  Lydia  had 
darted  out  of  the  door. 

His  face  was  ashy. 

"  Father,  let  me  carry  them !  " 

;'  I'm  all  right."  He  struggled  to  smile  as  he 
brushed  her  aside. 


4  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  followed  him  Into  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  Father,  I  wish  you'd  change  doctors!  I  don't 
believe  Dr.  Williams  is  helping  you  at  all  1  "  she  said 
vehemently,  and  as  she  uttered  the  words  a  flame  of 
indignation  rose  in  her  young  breast.  Dr.  Williams 
was  responsible  —  that  was  it  —  for  all  these  distress- 
ing feelings  that  had  suddenly  overtaken  her.  But  in 
her  effort  to  calm  her  growing  fears,  she  kept  saying 
over  to  herself  emphatically,  "  Well,  if  Dr.  Williams 
can't  help  him,  surely  some  doctor  can !  " 

ill 

When  they  were  seated  at  supper,  her  father  drew 
a  letter  from  his  pocket,  unfolded  a  check  from  it,  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"  It's  for  you,  Lydia.  .  .  ." 

"Forme?" 

Her  eyes  widened  with  surprise.  She  noticed  the 
check  was  in  payment  for  an  article  he  had  written  on 
the  "  Flora  of  the  Kingsville  Region,"  but  she  was 
puzzled  to  know  why  he  should  hand  it  to  her. 

"  Didn't  I  see  you  looking  at  a  suit,  yesterday?  " 

She  turned  crimson.  Then  he  had  seen  her  looking 
in  the  windows  at  Maxfield's ! 

'  You  need  a  suit,  Lydia."  He  motioned  her  to 
keep  the  check.  "  And  get  a  *  toque,'  or  whatever  they 
call  those  little  hats,"  he  added  awkwardly,  evidently 
conscious  that  he  knew  very  little  about  the  intricacies 
of  feminine  dress. 

As  he  lifted  his  cup  of  tea,  she  noticed  the  frayed 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  5 

edge  of  his  coat  sleeve,  and  the  lump  in  her  throat 
seemed  on  the  point  of  choking  her. 

He  looked  up  from  his  plate,  directly  at  her,  and  a 
slight,  almost  wistful  smile  passed  over  his  large- 
featured  face,  deepening  its  furrows. 

"  Lydia,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "You're 
not—?" 

"  No,  I'm  not!  "  she  broke  in  with  abrupt  vivacity, 
a  smile  glistening  through  her  tears. 

"  It's  just  .  .  .  I'm  so  pleased  .  .  .  about  the  suit. 
.  .  .  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you !  " 

She  jumped  up  from  the  table,  and  as  she  flew  by 
him  into  her  bedroom  she  bestowed  with  childish 
gaucherie  a  swift,  agitated  kiss  on  the  thin  locks  of 
greyish  hair  that  straggled  over  his  forehead. 

IV 

An  hour  later,  she  persuaded  him  to  put  away  his 
writing  for  the  evening  —  those  articles  he  wrote,  alas ! 
so  few  accepted — and  brought  out  the  chessboard. 

For  Lydia,  chess  was  an  expiatory  diversion.  The 
long  waits  for  determining  whether  Pawn  should  be 
sacrificed,  Knight  advanced,  or  what  not,  were  all  but 
unendurable  to  her  impatient  habit  of  mind.  She  only 
proposed  the  game  at  times  like  this  when  she  was  feel- 
ing vaguely  burdened  with  guilt.  For  view  it  as  she 
would,  she  felt  it  somehow  culpable  in  herself  that  she 
should  be  exhilarated,  as  without  doubt  she  was,  over 
the  prospect  of  the  suit  in  Maxfield's  windows  at  which 
she  had  gazed  longingly  —  her  own  I 


6  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

It  seemed  to  her  this  evening,  as  she  bent  over  the 
chessboard  —  the  light  on  the  table  making  her  bright 
hair  a  nimbus  about  her  head  —  that  the  silences  of  the 
game  were  longer  and  more  appalling  than  ever  before. 
The  only  sound  in  the  room  was  of  the  coal  in  the  grate 
crackling  as  little  flames  shot  up  through  its  fresh  fis- 
sures, and  she  felt,  nervously,  as  though  her  father 
could  almost  hear  her  thoughts  clattering  in  her  brain. 

A  sudden  desire  seized  her  to  snatch  his  big,  bony 
hand  hovering  over  the  chess  pieces  and  kiss  it.  She 
wanted  to  express  to  him  in  some  such  savagely  affec- 
tionate, unmistakable  way  (before  it  was  too  late!) 
her  love  for  him,  her  respect,  her  admiration !  Bitter 
injustice  had  been  done  him;  he  had  been  sacrificed  to 
satisfy  the  prejudices  of  absurd  provincial  bigotry,  and 
now  perhaps  he  was  dying,  and  those  trustees  of  Ran- 
som College  —  not  the  seeds  of  the  fatal  disease  that 
were  in  him  —  but  those  narrow  trustees,  and  narrow 
Kingsville  opinion  back  of  them,  were  killing  him ! 
They  had  forced  his  resignation  from  the  college,  four 
years  earlier,  because  of  a  series  of  lectures  he  had 
delivered  there  on  the  Descent  of  Man. 

Those  Thursday  Night  Lectures,  which  he  had 
taken  his  turn  in  the  faculty  in  delivering,  were  a  win- 
ter's course  always  offered  by  Ransom  College  to  the 
public,  an  "  effort  to  relate  the  College  to  the  Town," 
the  College  expressed  it;  a  relationship,  when  it  came  to 
lectures,  rather  gingerly  embraced,  as  a  rule,  by  the 
Town. 

Her  father's  Thursday  Nights  had  been  well  at- 
tended because  already  suspicion  had  breathed  over 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  7 

Kingsville  that  he  upheld  those  disquieting  modern 
theories  so  totally  at  variance  with  Kingsville's  inher- 
ited conviction  that  God,  having  finished  heavens  and 
earth,  had  ended  his  work  which  he  had  made,  and 
rested ! 

A  God  still  working  at  his  work  of  creation?  —  Im- 
possible !  Blasphemous ! 

At  least,  in  some  such  way,  Lydia  had  scornfully  in- 
terpreted Kingsville's  attitude,  every  drop  of  blood  in 
her  young  body  fierce  in  justification  of  her  father, 
when  the  Kingsville  clergy,  hugging  close  the  Book  of 
Genesis,  had  openly  referred  to  his  lectures,  had  ad- 
monished their  congregations  of  hearty-eating,  soft- 
sleeping  Kingsvillians  that  God  was  still  spelled  with 
a  large  G,  nature  with  a  small  n  —  they  were  not  to 
forget  that  —  had  finally  brought  pressure  to  bear  on 
the  trustees  that  had  accomplished  his  severance  from 
the  College. 

The  fire  had  burned  down  to  a  luminous  bed  of 
ruby  coals,  over  which  little  blue  flames  danced. 

"  Check !  "  Professor  Lambright's  call  broke  the 
long  stillness. 

Lydia's  hand,  moving  to  the  rescue  of  her  King,  was 
arrested  by  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  porch,  and  then 
a  knock. 

'  The  Pooles,  probably,"  she  whispered,  and  before 
opening  the  door,  she  gave  to  her  hair  that  instinctive 
feminine  touch  of  adjustment  so  inevitable  at  such  a 
juncture. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


It  was  not  the  Pooles. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Churchwell !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  But  you  will  let  me  in,  won't  you,  Miss  Lydia?  " 
the  man  in  the  doorway  answered  banteringly  to  her 
surprise. 

He  held  his  soft  hat  in  his  hand,  and  his  dark  eyes, 
which  swam  in  a  slight  mist,  looked  down  eloquently 
into  Lydia's. 

An  instant  before  the  thought  of  a  visit  from  the 
comfortable  Pooles  had  been  a  prop  to  her;  it  was  as 
if  the  presence  of  that  good  but  prosaic  couple  might 
banish  the  shadowy  form  she  discerned  dimly  behind 
her  father;  but  now  the  unexpected  advent  of  Ransom 
Churchwell  brought  suddenly  into  the  room  a  great 
colourful  warmth  —  the  lovely  radiance  of  afternoon 
sun  sifting  through  jewelled  windows!  They  were 
not  isolated  now,  she  and  her  father !  They  were  re- 
lated through  him,  through  Churchwell,  to  all  the 
wealth  and  warmth  of  the  outside  world!  The  very 
tones  of  Churchwell's  appealing  voice,  the  graceful 
movements  of  his  gallant  figure,  reassured  her,  while 
he  remained  within  her  ken,  of  the  friendliness  of  the 
whole  planetary  system ! 

"  Interrupting  one  of  your  frivolous  diversions,  I 
see  " —  pointing  to  the  chessboard  — "  but  I've  brought 
a  book  I  thought  you'd  like  to  look  over,  Professor 
Lambright." 

He  took  a  volume  from  the  pocket  of  the  ulster  he 
was  removing  and  handed  it  to  Lydia's  father. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  9 

"  Oh!  Yes,  I've  been  wanting  to  see  it,  Ransom." 
Lydia  thrilled!  She  always  thrilled  to  hear  her 
own  father  call  this  particular  man  by  his  first  name, 
familiarly,  Ransom !  It  seemed  to  bring  Ransom 
Churchwell  mysteriously,  entrancingly,  nearer  herself! 
When  her  father  had  known  him  a  lad,  his  pupil,  of 
course.  But  now,  in  majesty  of  manhood!  Choicest 
flower  of  the  complacent  aristocracy  of  Kingsville ! 

Not  that  Lydia  regarded  her  father  unfit  to  treat 
with  the  grandest,  anywhere,  on  equal  terms.  Little 
enough  she  knew,  to  be  sure,  of  her  father's  forebears, 
but  they  had  been  gentle  —  she  insisted  that  to  herself, 
always  —  and  her  father  a  gentleman  in  something 
more  even  than  that  sense  of  "  high-erected  thoughts  " 
and  "  heart  of  courtesy,"  of  which  surely  indeed  she 
knew  him  possessed.  The  fact  remained,  however, 
quite  undeniably,  that  Ransom  Churchwell  was  the 
Lambrights'  one  point  of  contact  with  the  picturesque 
reigning  class  of  Kingsville  on  which  Lydia's  child  eyes, 
and  maiden  eyes,  had  looked  with  so  highly  complex 
a  mixture  of  awe,  contempt,  hatred,  envy ! 

VI 

Professor  Lambright  held  the  volume  Churchwell 
had  brought  him  affectionately  in  his  thin  hands,  turn- 
ing the  pages.  Lydia  had  seated  herself  on  a  square 
stool  near  the  fire. 

She  had  selected  this  spot,  facing  her  father  and 
Churchwell,  and  placed  her  stool  over  it,  because  just 
here  the  thin  carpet  had  worn  thinnest.  Of  course, 
each  time  Churchwell  came,  things  were,  of  necessity, 


io  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

a  trifle  more  dilapidated  than  the  time  before;  but  as 
her  eyes  made  a  swift,  furtive  inventory  of  the  room 
—  the  side-table  on  which  an  old-fashioned  silver  tea- 
set  was  gleaming  in  the  light  of  the  open  fire,  the  book- 
shelves with  their  bust  of  Goethe,  the  engraving,  after 
Raphael,  which  her  father  had  brought  years  before 
from  Rome  (St.  Peter  asleep  between  the  watchmen, 
and  being  awakened  by  the  angel) —  she  decided  there 
was  still  that  air  of  refinement  in  their  surroundings 
so  essential  to  the  ease  of  her  fastidious  young  soul. 
Her  stool  well  covering  carpet-holes,  she  had  no  apolo- 
gies to  make  —  not  even  to  Mr.  Churchwell,  whose 
eyes  rested  on  her  while  he  talked  to  her  father. 

"  But,  of  course,  Professor  Lambright,  we  must  let 
Miss  Aristotle  read  and  digest  this  work  first,"  he  was 
saying,  his  eyes  gleaming  mischievously,  "  so  she  can 
determine  whether  it'll  be  profitable  for  you  and  me  to 
peruse!  " 

Lydia  and  her  father  both  laughed.  What  cama- 
raderie in  the  three-cornered  friendship!  How,  at 
once,  they  all  understood  each  other!  It  was  months 
since  Churchwell's  last  visit,  and  yet,  now  he  was  with 
them  again,  it  was  as  if  only  a  day  had  passed  since 
then. 

It  was  immeasurable  comfort  to  Lydia  that  Church- 
well  sympathised  with  the  views  of  her  father  which 
had  branded  him  dangerous  in  Kingsville,  that  he  had 
nothing  but  approval  for  those  Thursday  Night  Lec- 
tures on  the  Descent  of  Man  which  her  father  had 
delivered  at  Ransom  College,  founded  and  endowed 
by  Ransom  Churchwell's  maternal  grandfather. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  n 

It  was  clearly  apparent,  on  Churchwell's  part,  that 
he  loved  to  see  the  sparkling  challenge  of  this  girl's 
eye  rise  to  his,  for  he  continued  to  rally  her. 

"  Miss  Lydia,  I  don't  see  how  your  father  and  I 
are  going  to  marry  you  to  a  Prince  of  the  Blood  Royal 
of  Kingsville,  when  you  will  persist  in  poring  over  the 
'  First  Principles  of  Synthetic  Philosophy ' !  " 

His  quick  eye  had  detected  a  battered  copy  on  the 
top  of  the  shelves  beside  him,  a  small  handkerchief 
thrust  between  its  pages  to  mark  a  place. 

"  Oh,  I'm  wedded  already,  to  —  to  —  Herbert 
Spencer!  "  she  laughed. 

The  deep,  tender  tones  of  Churchwell's  voice  were 
still  sounding  through  and  through  her.  She  was 
wondering  why  his  voice  always  made  her  feel  so 
queer,  so  sort  of  —  well,  shaky,  and  perturbed,  inside 
—  withal  rather  a  delicious  tumult !  And  she  was 
thinking,  too,  that  it  was  tremendously  clever  in  him, 
actually  very  splendid  and  cosmopolitan,  the  easy,  jest- 
ing nonchalance  with  which  he  spoke  of  the  Blood 
Royal  of  Kingsville,  as  if  he,  himself,  were  not  of  the 
strain.  A  rare  Kingsvillian,  truly,  who  could  laugh 
at  Kingsville !  —  who  could  find  amusing  the  airs 
Kingsville's  old  families  gave  themselves,  when  Ran- 
soms and  Churchwells  were  of  the  oldest  among  them. 

"  Yes,  you  have  the  youths  thoroughly  terrified, 
Miss  Lydia!  "  insisted  Churchwell,  lifting  one  eyebrow 
whimsically.  "  I  heard  young  Bob  Allen  saying  the 
other  day  to  my  brother,  '  There's  that  little  Lydia 
Lambright,  prettier  than  any  of  them,  but,  confound 
it,  I'm  afraid  of  her!  She  knows  too  much! '  " 


12  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Poor  Bob  1  "  laughed  Lydia.  But  her  pulses  had 
begun  beating  quickly.  Spots,  each  feeling  no  larger 
than  a  dollar,  were  burning  hotly  in  her  cheeks.  She 
was  breathing  in  with  excitement  the  perfume  of  Bob's 
phrase,  "  Little  Lydia  Lambright,  prettier  than  any  of 
them !  " —  but  the  thing  that  was  really  fluttering  her 
most  was  the  way  Mr.  Churchwell  had  looked  at  her 
when  he  had  repeated  it. 

Her  father,  smiling  absently  at  their  chaff,  had  been 
cutting  pages  in  the  "  Riddle  of  the  Universe,"  dip- 
ping into  it  here  and  there.  He  rose  now,  to  put  more 
coal  on  the  fire. 

"  Ransom,  you're  just  back  from  Washington?  .  .  . 
How's  your  case  coming  on?  "  he  asked,  as  he  turned 
from  the  fire. 

The  men  fell  into  men's  talk;  and  Lydia's  thoughts, 
after  a  time,  again  to  revolving  in  old  grooves.  .  .  . 
It  seemed  ages  ago  to  her,  though  it  was  only  a  matter 
of  five  or  six  years,  since  she  had  read  the  fateful  en- 
graved words: 

".  .  .  desire  the  honour  of  your  presence 

at  the  marriage  of  their  daughter 

Seraphina 

to 
Mr.  Ransom  Craighead  Churchwell  .  .  ." 

Tear-drenched,  secret  hours  had  followed.  Who 
could  have  told  her,  better  than  she  knew  herself,  how 
futile  ?  How  foolish  I  What  right  had  she,  child-to- 
be-chucked-under-chin,  nothing  more,  to  him,  to  resent 
this  binding  to  Seraphina  for  better,  for  worse,  till 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  13 

death  part,  of  her  adored  Mr.  Churchwell?  .  .  .  Yet 
she  had  resented  it  —  she  was  still  vaguely  resenting  it. 

Churchwell's  voice  startled  her. 

"  Miss  Lydia,  may  I  speak  to  your  father  alone  a 
few  moments?  " 

VII 

"  That's  odd!  "  she  thought,  as  she  went  out  into  her 
bedroom.  "  What  can  he  want  to  see  him  alone  for?  " 

But  instantly  she  defended  Churchwell  against  a 
phantom  accuser.  "  It's  something  good,  anyway." 

She  lit  the  glass  bedroom  lamp,  and  held  it  so  she 
could  see  herself  in  the  mirror  of  the  walnut  bureau, 
scrutinising  carefully  the  reflection  in  its  small  swing- 
ing glass.  The  voices  of  Churchwell  and  her  father 
reached  her  through  the  closed  door,  but  more  insistent 
than  their  low  tones  were  Bob  Allen's  words  buzzing 
gaily  in  her  ears,  "  Little  Lydia  Lambright,  prettier 
than  any  of  them !  " 

Opening  a  scuffed  leather  trunk,  she  drew  out  the 
waist  of  an  old  evening  gown  —  one  of  the  few  me- 
mentoes she  had  of  a  mother  so  mysterious  to  her 
when  alive,  and  each  year  since  her  death  grown  more 
baffling  a  memory.  It  released  a  faint,  slightly  musty 
scent,  and  handling  it  she  became  indefinably  agitated. 

She  had  never  seen  her  mother  wear  it;  it  belonged 
to  days  before  those  she  could  recall;  but  once  before, 
playing  "  grown  lady "  in  her  childhood,  she  had 
donned  this  pretty  relic,  and  now  she  unfastened  her 
childishly-made  serge  dress,  slipped  from  it,  and  into 
the  crushed  evening  bodice  of  pale  green,  cut  into  a 


i4  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

low  "  V."  She  was  shivering  —  she  could  see  her 
breath  form  into  vapour  in  the  frigid  air  of  the  room 
—  but  she  was  burning  too ! 

She  held  up  the  lamp  again  —  and  her  heart  jumped ! 
It  was  that  girl  of  Greuze  in  her  father's  copy !  —  gay, 
dainty,  elegant  —  a  cloud  of  fair  hair  waved  back  from 
an  oval  face,  high  arch  of  crescent  brows,  a  nose  deli- 
cately aquiline,  soft  pastel  tints  of  downy  skin  height- 
ened to  rose  in  the  cheeks !  She  was  bewitched  by  this 
reflection  of  a  Lydia  transformed  by  a  bit  of  old  finery ! 
It  pleased  her  mightily,  too,  to  fancy  that  in  the  fluid, 
glancing,  indescribable  charm  she  found  in  the  face  in 
the  mirror,  she  could  behold  traces  of  that  one  of  her 
grandmothers  of  whom  she  had  a  faint  but  fascinating 
knowledge.  For,  however  strangely  shrouded  from 
her  the  background  of  her  parents'  lives,  they  had  told 
her  one  thing,  at  least  —  that  her  mother's  mother  had 
been  a  Frenchwoman. 

Peering  with  eager,  parted  lips  into  the  swinging 
glass,  she  thought  she  saw,  far  ahead,  a  destiny,  for 
this  girl  she  gazed  at,  wondrous  as  dreams  are  won- 
drous! There  was  a  touch  of  initiation  in  the  dark 
eyes  looking  back  at  her  that  gave  this  promise,  some 
subtle,  haunting  quality  of  soul  infused  with  the  child 
quality  they  had  not  entirely  lost. 

She  threw  up  her  head  to  let  her  eyes  drift  back 
over  the  curve  of  white  throat  reflected,  she  turned 
from  side  to  side  to  catch  every  angle  of  enchantment. 
With  a  little  rapturous  tremor  she  wound  her  arms  em- 
bracingly  about  her  own  shoulders,  revealed  to  her  frag- 
ile but  lovely  as  they  rose  above  the  pale-green  bodice. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  15 

All  at  once  her  father's  voice  reached  her  distinctly : 
"  Ransom,  I  can't  accept  — " 

Then  the  murmur  of  both  voices  again,  rising,  low- 
ering, as  if  in  contest. 

A  great  wave  of  shame  swept  over  Lydia.  She 
stripped  off  the  evening  bodice  and  threw  it  upon  the 
trunk,  hurrying  back  into  her  dark  serge  dress. 

"  Oh,  Father!  "  she  cried,  kneeling  on  the  floor  by 
the  bed,  "  how  could  I  be  admiring  myself  in  the  glass 
when  you're  dying?  " 

VIII 

"  Lydia!" 

She  sprang  up,  and  hurriedly  dried  her  eyes. 

Churchwell  was  leaving  when  she  re-entered  the  sit- 
ting room.  Her  father  was  standing  opposite  him  on 
the  hearth-rug.  A  singular  change  had  come  over  his 
face  —  an  expression  of  hope.  Sun  rifted  Lydia's 
gloom,  broke  over  her  world  again  in  myriad  dancing 
points  of  light! 

Churchwell,  drawing  on  his  gloves,  had  some  last 
jesting  talk  with  her. 

'  You  will  come  again  —  soon  —  won't  you,  Mr. 
Churchwell?  "  escaped  impulsively  from  her  as  he  took 
her  hand. 

"I  will  —  soon!"  he  promised.  His  eyes,  so 
searchingly  sympathetic,  so  admiring  —  ah,  she  could 
not  doubt  it!  —  beamed  down  assurance. 

A  moment  more  and  he  was  gone,  swallowed  up  in 
the  darkness  outside,  though  for  another  moment  Lydia 
stood  at  the  window,  looking  after  him, 


CHAPTER  II 


LYDIA  opened  sleepy  eyes  on  the  grey  half-light 
of  a  winter  morning.  She  stretched  drowsily, 
dreading  to  step  out  of  her  warm  bed  into  the  cold 
room.  She  would  have  loved  another  hour,  but  at 
least  she  would  give  herself  the  guilty  enjoyment  of 
just  one  more  minute,  two  perhaps,  or  three,  of  warm 
dreaminess  before  she  made  the  plunge  into  the  cold. 
As  her  thoughts  began  to  shape  themselves  more 
clearly,  she  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  something  agree- 
able that  had  happened  —  or  was  about  to  happen. 
She  wondered,  more  than  she  had  the  night  before, 
what  Mr.  Ransom  Churchwell  had  talked  to  her  father 
about  privately,  and  why  her  father  had  not  told  her 
at  once,  after  Mr.  Churchwell  left,  what  it  was. 

Her  eyes  wandered  to  a  calendar  which  hung  on  the 
wall  beside  her,  and  pushing  a  little  farther  away  from 
her  the  inevitable  moment  of  getting  up,  she  began  to 
read  the  dates  on  the  calendar  leaf.  With  a  start,  she 
saw  it  was  the  twenty-seventh  of  January  on  which  she 
had  just  opened  her  eyes  —  her  father's  birthday! 
She  had  forgotten  it !  And  she  was  perplexed  to  know 
where  she  could  get  enough  money  for  a  little  feast, 
something  out  of  the  ordinary,  to  surprise  him. 

A  few  moments  later,  she  was  so  absorbed  in  secret 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  17 

projects,  that  she  hardly  realised  he  had  come  into  the 
kitchen,  until  looking  up  from  the  coffee  she  had 
ground  and  was  pouring  from  the  mill,  she  saw  him 
bent  over  the  stove,  his  hands  spread  out  above  it. 

"  It  gets  warm  here  quicker  than  in  the  other  room," 
he  explained. 

It  was  borne  in  upon  her  that  only  lately  had  he  been 
so  keenly  sensitive  to  cold;  their  changed  relation  struck 
her,  too,  as  it  had  once  or  twice  before  —  the  wonder- 
ful sense  of  protection  the  mere  presence  of  her  father 
once  had  given  her,  and  now  he  seemed  to  have  become 
her  charge.  This  compassion  for  him,  that  never  left 
her  entirely  any  more,  hurt  like  physical  pain.  .  .  . 
There  had  been,  certainly,  that  eager  spark  in  his  eye 
the  night  before,  and  her  glad  hope  that  had  swiftly 
twinned  his.  But  was  it  still  there?  Her  glance  re- 
vealed him  grey  and  pinched  in  the  chill  morning  light. 

At  any  rate,  the  last  thing  to  do  was  to  let  him 
suspect  her  fears. 

"  I  do  think  '  Peter  Ibbetson '  is  perfectly  charming, 
Father,"  she  remarked,  as  they  sat  down  to  breakfast. 
"  I  believe  it's  the  most  charming  book  I  ever  read; 
I  couldn't  help  crying.  And  Peter,  a  little  boy  in 
France,  in  that  old  garden,  oh,  I  loved  that!  " 

She  chattered  on,  but  constantly  in  the  back  of  her 
mind  while  she  talked  and  while  her  father  answered, 
was  the  thought  that  it  was  his  birthday,  and  she  won- 
dered if  he  remembered  that  it  was. 


1 8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

II 

Breakfast  over,  she  arranged  the  ironing-board,  and 
tested  the  irons,  and  as  she  did  so,  a  memory  flashed 
through  her  of  the  sour,  conscientious  woman  who  had 
exercised  authority  over  her  earlier  years.  Just  as 
Miss  Barker  had  patted,  pulled,  pressed,  she  was  pat- 
ting, pulling,  pressing,  now.  It  seemed  impossible  for 
her  to  get  through  the  weekly  ironing  without  these 
vivid  disagreeable  representments  of  Miss  Barker. 
Her  father  had  married  in  England,  and  had  brought 
her  mother,  English  born,  of  French  parents,  home  to 
America,  and  after  a  time  —  Lydia  did  not  know  how 
long  a  time  —  to  Kingsville.  A  few  years  later,  Miss 
Barker,  who  had  been  housekeeper  for  his  mother,  had 
come  to  take  charge  of  his  own  household,  demoralised 
through  the  chronic  illness  of  its  mistress;  she  had  been 
willing  to  remain  after  his  removal  from  the  College, 
when  his  salary  stopped,  and  his  inherited  means  ex- 
hausted, sweeping  retrenchment  had  become  neces- 
sary. 

Lydia  supposed  long  association  had  made  Miss 
Barker  endurable  to  her  father.  ^Eons  of  association, 
she  thought,  would  not  have  reconciled  her  to  Miss 
Barker.  Her  own  antagonism  had  grown  out  of  some- 
thing she  had  but  little  understood  —  Miss  Barker's 
constant  surveillance  to  prevent  her  being  alone  with 
her  mother. 

But  her  thoughts  kept  returning  to  the  birthday  cele- 
bration. Finally,  she  decided  she  might  dispose  of  a 
miscellaneous  assortment  of  old  text-books  that  had 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  19 

survived  her  use  of  them  in  school.  Her  father's 
Christmas  present  she  had  purchased  with  the  proceeds 
from  a  handful  of  old  trinkets  she  had  sold  to  a  second- 
hand dealer. 

ill 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  he  announced  his  intention 
of  going  out  while  the  sun  was  still  bright,  and  as  soon 
as  he  left,  she  put  the  books  into  her  market-basket, 
and  started  off. 

She  hurried  along  back  streets,  hoping  that  she 
should  meet  no  one  who  knew  her,  but  wishing  she  had 
courage  enough  not  to  try  to  cover  up  poverty,  not  to 
try  to  disguise  the  fact  that  she  was  carrying  a  basket 
of  old  books  to  sell  to  a  second-hand  book  dealer. 

She  descended  to  the  heart  of  the  old  town,  and 
wound  swiftly  in  and  out  of  narrow  streets,  dark  and 
malodorous,  till  she  reached  the  second-hand  book- 
shop. 

Art  old  man  dragged  himself  forward  and  peered  at 
her  cautiously  as  she  took  the  paper  off  her  basket  and 
piled  up  her  books  on  a  table  already  piled  with  nonde- 
script battered  volumes. 

"  What  do  you  want  for  'em?  " 

"  Oh,  what  will  you  give?  " 

"  They  ain't  worth  anything.  You  know  that,  don't 
you?" 

;'  Why,  they  use  the  same  books  in  the  schools 
now.  .  .  ."  Lydia  picked  up  an  Elementary  Algebra, 
a  Physiology  and  Hygiene,  a  General  History,  and 
eagerly  showed  him, 


20  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"Expect  me  to  carry  'em  till  next  September? 
Bring  'em  in  then,  if  you  want  to  sell  'em." 

September!  Lydia's  heart  sank.  By  September 
there  might  be  no  more  birthdays  to  celebrate ! 

"  You  can  give  me  something  for  them,  can't  you? 
Anything  .  .  .  anything  .  .  .  you  think  they're 
worth  .  .  ."  she  added  falteringly. 

"Worth!  They  ain't  worth  anything,  now."  But 
he  made  an  abrupt  concession  — "  I'll  give  you  a  dollar 
forty  for  the  lot." 

"Oh,  more  than  that!"  begged  Lydia.  "Look 
how  many!  " 

"  If  you  don't  want  that,  pack  'em  up !  " 

He  turned  his  back  on  her,  mumbling  something  as 
he  walked  off;  but  she  called  him  back  and  accepted  his 
offer. 

He  vanished  then  into  a  dim  recess  of  the  rear  shop, 
and  was  so  unconscionably  long  in  returning  with  the 
money  for  her,  that  Lydia  grew  a  trifle  uneasy.  She 
began  examining  the  lines  of  dusty  books  on  the  shelves 
along  the  wall.  Suddenly  she  took  down  a  translation 
of  "  Madame  Bovary."  She  had  taken  hints  from  her 
scattered  reading  that  Flaubert's  pages  might  reward 
peeping  into ! 

"Want  it?" 

She  started  at  the  old  man's  voice  behind  her.  A 
quick,  unpleasant  wave  of  warmth  passed  over  her,  but 
on  second  thought  she  realised  that  probably  he  knew 
less  than  she  the  contents  of  "  Madame  Bovary." 

"  How  much  is  it?  "  she  asked,  romancing  with  her- 
self momentarily. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  21 

"  Let  you  have  it  a  dollar  ten.  I  ain't  makin'  those 
prices  every  day  .  .  ."  His  tones  had  grown  bland. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  take  it  to-day,  thank  you,"  she  an- 
swered hastily. 

"  A  dollar  .  .  .  I'll  give  it  to  you  for  a  dollar  .  .  ." 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry,  please  .  .  ."  She  held  out  her 
hand. 

His  face  clouded,  but  he  put  the  money  in  her  hand. 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  she  got  into  the 
street  again,  and  started  toward  Maxfield's;  but  her 
feet  slackened  as  she  reached  the  corner  of  Main 
Street.  Here  was  a  shop  window  she  had  never  been 
able  to  resist ! 

"  Law,  Lydia,  you  picking  you  out  an  engagement 
ring?"  came  a  drawling,  jocular  inquiry  from  behind 
her. 

Lydia  turned  around  with  vexation. 

"Oh!     Rosa!  .  .  ." 

But  it  was  not  as  she  would  be  seen  even  by  Rosa  — 
gaping  in  a  jeweller's  window!  She  liked  to  associate 
herself,  in  thought  at  least,  with  the  Grand  Class,  who 
entered  jewellers'  doors,  rather  than  stared  hungrily 
through  their  plate-glass. 

"Where  you  keepin'  yourself,  Lydia?  Why  don't 
you  ever  come  over?"  pursued  Rosa  familiarly. 
"  Can't  you  come  on  home  with  me  now?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you.     I  have  some  errands  .  .  ." 

Lydia  had  tried  to  make  this  reply  not  too  icy,  yet 
final.  But  Rosa  Bagster  was  the  kind  you  couldn't  get 
away  from. 

"  I  have  to  go  on.     Oh,  that's  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure. 


22  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Thank  you  .  .  .  thank  you  very  much  .  .  ."  Dis- 
guising, she  hoped,  with  these  civil  words,  her  distaste 
for  Bagster  invitations,  Lydia  released  herself  finally, 
and  hurried  on  down  Main  Street.  Well,  she  was  pay- 
ing for  that  fatal  mistake  she  had  made  in  once  accept- 
ing an  invitation  to  Rosa  Bagster's.  That  party  had 
settled  it  for  her.  ...  If  she  couldn't  move,  for  one 
reason  and  another,  in  the  circle  where  she  coveted  to 
move,  she  at  least  didn't  need  to  mingle  with  Bagsters. 
.  .  .  They  had  looked  up  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  queen, 
timidly,  or  hysterically  familiar,  like  Rosa  herself,  but 
Bagster  atmosphere  was  not  at  all  one  she  would 
breathe !  Better  sit  quietly  at  home,  opposite  her 
father,  reading.  .  .  .  And  that  she  had  done,  since, 
the  evenings  of  several  years  past. 

IV 

She  felt  a  sudden  pang  of  dismay  to  find  the  suit  she 
had  admired  gone  from  the  window  when  she  reached 
Maxfield's.  Perhaps  it  had  been  sold  ! 

On  the  second  floor  —  millinery,  corsets,  ladies'  suits 
and  coats  —  she  was  referred  to  Mrs.  Joy.  Mrs.  Joy 
would  show  her  the  suits. 

With  a  graceful  gesture  of  apology,  Mrs.  Joy  left 
her  other  customers.  "The  brown  suit  .  .  .?" 
Slowly — "The  brown  suit  .  .  .  that  was  in  the  win- 
dow .  .  .?" 

Then  with  sudden  inspiration  — "  Oh !  —  I  know 
the  very  one  you  mean !  So  sweet  for  you,  too,  with 
those  eyes ! "  shaking  a  roguish  finger  at  Lydia. 
"  Now  just  a  moment,  and  I'm  free !  On  the  settee, 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  23 

my  dear,"  propelling  Lydia  to  a  circular  settee  of  plush 
in  the  centre  of  the  room. 

Lydia  watched  her  —  watched  and  listened,  for  not 
to  have  heard  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Joy's  deep,  fruity 
voice  was  to  have  missed  much  of  her  quality.  People 
said  Maxfield's  was  Mrs.  Joy,  and  Mrs.  Joy  was  Max- 
field's.  It  seemed  not  improbable  to  Lydia  as  she  ob- 
served her.  Such  unctuous  resource  in  the  discharge 
of  those  responsibilities,  commercial,  if  you  will,  with 
which  Providence,  or  Maxfield,  had  entrusted  her! 
Kingsville,  rolling  the  tid-bit  gleefully  under  its  old 
tongue,  declared  Mrs.  Joy  the  mistress  of  Maxfield. 
Lydia  had  heard  it:  and,  almost  in  equal  parts,  repelled 
by  the  idea,  and  fascinated  by  it,  by  Mrs.  Joy  herself, 
in  the  sumptuous  flesh,  she  started  thinking  of  that 
awful  institution  —  a  man's  mistress !  .  .  .  Kings  had 
mistresses.  Successful  merchants,  like  Maxfield,  had 
mistresses,  it  seemed.  Men  of  the  world  had  mis- 
tresses. .  .  .  She  wondered  if  Mr.  Ransom  Church- 
well  had  ever  had  —  a  mistress!  ...  It  was  more 
agitating  than  any  thought  she  had  ever  known  before 
—  more  torturing,  for  the  moment,  than  even  that  feel- 
ing she  had  had  about  the  lawful  Seraphina  I 

But  Mrs.  Joy  was  bidding  farewell  to  her  departing 
customers.  ..."  So  wise  of  you,  Mrs.  Copenhaver, 
to  take  both  evening  wraps !  "  Mrs.  Joy  looked  quite 
sapient  herself  as  she  said  it,  a  wrap  of  black  brocade 
with  lining  of  cerise  depending  from  this  plump  arm,  a 
mantle  of  delicate  fawn  from  that  —  and  between  her 
laden  arms,  her  monumental  bosom  heaving  under  its 
adorning  passementerie. 


24  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  turned  to  Lydia.  "  Now,  my  dear  .  .  ."  She 
swept  off. 

Lydia  was  surprised  to  see  her  return  carrying  a 
suit  of  green. 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  brown  suit  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear.  .  .  .  But  you  must  put  on  this 
first.  .  .  .  No !  no !  of  course  you  don't  want  it !  But 
just  to  please  me!  Now,  won't  you?  I  must  get  an 
idea  of  your  style,  so  I  can  give  you  just  what's  right 
for  you!  " 

She  had  Lydia's  little  thin  coat  stripped  off;  her  little 
hat  with  its  quill,  off;  her  wavy  hair  caressingly  put 
back  just  as  it  belonged;  she  had  the  skirt  over 
Lydia's  head;  the  jacket  on  her;  even  the  velvet  Direc- 
toire  collar  fastened  around  her  throat,  while  Lydia 
was  still  in  a  state  of  protest. 

"  Oh,  what  a  picture !  "  she  cried  rapturously. 
"  Made  for  her,  isn't  it?  "  she  called  to  the  other  sales- 
women. 

She  consulted  the  cryptic  price-mark.  "  Forty-five ! 
Oh!  what  value!  "  Her  voice  rose  astonished,  almost 
pained. 

"  Let  me  look  again  1  .  .  .  What!  Did  I  say  forty- 
five  ?  Thirty-five !  "  she  announced. 

Lydia's  heart  quailed.  She  tried  to  muster  courage 
to  explain  that  the  figure  so  moderate,  it  appeared,  to 
Mrs.  Joy,  was  far  too  high  for  her  own  consideration, 
but  the  heady,  exotic  scent  emanating  from  Mrs.  Joy's 
garments  seemed  to  blunt  her  will. 

"  I  don't  like  to  give  you  so  much  trouble,"  she  ven- 
tured, starting  to  draw  off  the  jacket. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  25 

"Trouble?"  Mrs.  Joy  rose  gallantly  to  the 
charge.  "Trouble?"  Her  laughter  came  in  rich 
ripples,  and  she  placed  soft,  arresting  hands  on  Lydia. 
"  Why,  dear  child,  I  live  to  take  trouble,  to  serve  the 
dear  ladies  of  Kingsville !  I  love  you !  I  love  every 
one  of  you!  You  know  it!  "  she  cried,  with  an  arch 
expression.  "  I  go  to  New  York  for  you,  my  dear ! 
I  will  have  my  Kingsville  ladies  second  to  none  — " 
Her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  "  And  I'm  going  to 
part  with  the  profits  on  this  little  suit!  It's  too  ador- 
able on  you  I  I'm  going  to  let  you  have  it  for  thirty !  " 

Lydia  braced  herself.  "  But  how  much  is  the  brown 
suit?"  she  asked,  a  slightly  belligerent  ring  in  her 
voice. 

Mrs.  Joy  called  out  cheerily,  "  Miss  Hooper,  bring 
me  that  little  brown  suit  that  was  in  the  window,  frogs 
on  the  jacket  ..." 

Lydia's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  relief  when  its  price, 
fifteen  dollars,  fell  on  her  ears. 

"  Nice,  natty  little  suit,"  Mrs.  Joy  commended  it, 
as  she  shaped  the  jacket  on  her,  "  and  really  more  be- 
coming than  the  green!  But  a  hard  time  you  would 
have,  dear  child,  to  find  anything  wwbecoming!  " 

She  took  the  address.  "Lambright?"  She  paused, 
her  pencil  suspended.  "Lambright  .  .  .?" 

"  From  the  North,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  at  last. 
"  So  many  Northern  people  in  Kingsville  now  — " 

"  I've  lived  in  Kingsville  always,  almost,"  Lydia  in- 
terrupted, with  some  dignity.  "  My  father's  North- 
ern," she  added.  Of  course  she  would  not  deny  it. 
But  it  was  irritating  the  way  people  in  Kingsville  al- 


26  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ways,  smiling  it  might  be,  but  with  lifted  eyebrows, 
pronounced  this  word  —  Northern!  It  seemed  to  her 
that  you  never  could  quite  get  away  in  Kingsville  from 
this  blight  of  Northern  extraction.  ...  If  it  hadn't 
been  too  disloyal,  she  might  have  wished  countless 
times  that  her  father,  her  grandfather,  her  great- 
grandfather, had  been  of  Kingsville  origin.  She  felt 
that  then,  perhaps,  everything  might  have  been  so  dif- 
ferent for  her.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Joy,  the  newly  purchased  suit  dangling  from 
her  arm,  was  visited  with  a  sudden  remembrance  of 
the  name  of  Lambright. 

"  Oh!  not  Professor  Lambright  who  was  at  the  Col- 
lege? "  she  asked. 

Lydia  said  yes. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  excuse  me  I  I  didn't  dream.  .  .  . 
But  now,  my  dear,  let  me  give  you  a  bit  of  advice  I 
I'm  old  enough  to  advise  you,  am  I  not?  "  With  her 
flashing  teeth,  she  invited  Lydia  to  contradict  .this 
statement.  "  We  all  have  our  little  troubles,  dear ! 
Don't  brood  on  yours !  We  don't  choose  our  par- 
ents — " 

The  look  in  Lydia's  face  caused  her  to  pause. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  resumed,  recovering  herself, 
"there's  worse  people  in  the  world  than  atheists! 
Kingsville's  a  bigoted  old  place!  I've  come  pretty 
near  finding  that  out,  myself!  " —  The  rippling  laugh- 
ter again,  the  knowing  look,  as  if,  out  of  the  bounteous 
nature  of  her,  she  would  be  willing  to  include,  with  the 
supposed  moral  peccadilloes  that  had  caused  estrange- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  27 

ment  of  popular  approval  in  her  own  case,  whatever  of 
spiritual  peccadilloes  in  the  case  of  Lydia's  father. 


For  some  time  after  Lydia  left  Maxfield's,  she  was 
still  stinging  with  indignation.  The  presumption  of 
Mrs.  Joy!  —  as  if  she  were  competent  to  distinguish 
atheist  from  theist!  And  how  had  the  woman  dared 
class  herself  (in  that  profaning  inuendo)  with  a  man 
like  her  father? 

She  almost  wished  she  had  not  bought  the  suit.  She 
had  been  disappointed  in  its  appearance  once  it  was 
on  her;  it  had  been  anti-climax  after  the  green  suit. 
However,  by  the  time  she  reached  the  second-hand 
bookshop,  where  she  stopped  to  pick  up  her  basket, 
she  had  recalled  her  father  so  happy  in  giving  her  the 
check,  anticipating  her  joy  in  a  new  suit  ....  After 
all,  she  would  love  it,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  breath. 

The  Market  Square  was  full  of  loafers  when  she 
came  to  it  —  negroes  and  "  poor  whites."  Miserable 
looking  white  beggar-girls  accosted  her  with  their 
whining  "  Miss,  gimme  a  nickel."  She  made  her 
way  hurryingly  into  the  big  Market  House  and  made 
purchases  at  various  stalls. 

As  she  emerged  into  the  narrow,  cluttered  thorough- 
fare that  ran  on  four  sides  of  the  Market  House,  she 
paused,  and  furtively  opening  her  purse,  glanced  at  the 
remaining  coins  —  eighteen  cents  left,  counting  three 
pennies  ...  it  would  be  enough  for  a  flower  or  two. 


28  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Inattentively  picking  her  way  among  the  hucksters' 
wagons,  one  of  them  almost  backed  into  her  and  as  she 
sprang  ahead  to  safety,  she  found  herself  full  against 
the  Churchwell  carriage !  So  near  that  she  could  put 
out  her  hand  and  touch  Mrs.  Ransom  Churchwell, 
whose  opulent  curves  were  outlined  against  the  plum- 
coloured  cushions  of  the  victoria.  But  a  sort  of  haze 
formed  instantaneously  over  Lydia's  eyes;  near  as  she 
was,  she  received  only  a  dim,  fleeting  impression  of 
Mrs.  Churchwell's  plumes  tossing  her  an  aloof  recog- 
nition. 

Her  face  was  aflame,  her  cheeks  still  burning  when 
a  few  minutes  later  she  entered  a  little  florist's  shop  and 
inquired  the  price  of  roses. 

''These?"  The  young  woman  in  attendance 
touched  a  jar  of  American  Beauty  roses.  "  Five  dol- 
lars." 

"  Oh,  not  a-dozen;  a-piece  .  .  ." 

"  Fifty  cents,  I  suppose.  These  are  cheaper,"  list- 
lessly indicating  some  others.  "  Thirty-five  .  .  . 
twenty-five  .  .  ." 

"  I  was  just  pricing  them,"  Lydia  murmured,  turn- 
ing to  go,  when  the  young  woman  drew  out  a  jar  of 
small  rose-buds.  "  Fifteen  cents  a-piece  for  these," 
she  said,  and  Lydia  selected  one  and  paying  for  it  laid 
it  tenderly  on  top  of  her  marketing. 

It  was  nearly  four  by  the  florist's  clock,  she  had 
noticed,  and  when  she  left  the  Square  she  flew. 

She  saw  no  smoke  from  the  chimney  as  she  ap- 
proached the  cottage.  Evidently  her  father  had  al- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  29 

lowed  the  fire  to  go  down.     Well,  when  she  went  in, 
she  would  scold  him ! 

But  the  key  was  still  behind  the  blind  where  she  had 
left  it.  Oh,  after  all,  it  wasn't  very  late.  Perhaps  he 
had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  country. 

VI 

And  yet  she  felt  a  little  uneasy.  As  she  shook  her 
saucepan  and  clouds  of  fragrant  steam  began  to  rise 
in  the  kitchen,  she  asked  herself  more  and  more  anx- 
iously why  he  did  not  come. 

She  looked  out.  The  sky  was  deepening.  She 
coaxed  a  cheerful  blaze  in  the  sitting  room  grate  to 
welcome  him.  She  had  thought  —  an  hour  earlier  — 
how  gaily  she  would  set  forth  the  little  feast  in  all  the 
best  bits  of  china  and  silver;  but  now,  as  she  put  the 
rose  in  a  delicate  holder,  arranged  the  candles,  and  the 
grapes  in  their  pretty  basket,  she  could  not  force  her 
mood  to  any  gaiety  at  all.  .  .  . 

It  was  growing  very  dark  at  last,  and  unable  to  sit 
still,  she  went  out  on  the  porch  and  then  on  down  to 
the  gate.  With  straining  eyes  she  peered  in  every  di- 
rection through  the  deep,  luminous  blue  of  early  even- 
ing. There  were  the  town  lights,  outlining,  with  their 
silver  stars  against  the  blue,  old  Kingsville's  hills  and 
valleys.  But  nowhere  her  father.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  she  would  run  to  the  Pooles  and  ask  their  ad- 
vice, but  then  she  realised  that  such  a  course  would  be 
an  admission  that  she  believed  something  had  happened 
to  him.  She  would  not,  absolutely  would  not,  yet, 


30 

make  that  admission,  and  with  pounding  heart  she  went 
back  into  the  cottage. 

The  minutes  lagged  agonisingly;  but  it  was  always 
so,  she  told  herself,  when  you  waited  for  any  one,  your 
eyes  riveted  to  the  clock. 

At  last  there  was  a  sound  on  the  walk  outside,  faint, 
and  then  distinct,  unmistakable.  Her  heart  gave  a 
bound  of  joy!  —  all  her  foolish  fears,  and  here  he 
was. 

She  ran  to  the  kitchen.  Everything  must  be  on  the 
table.  In  all  its  splendour  the  birthday  supper  should 
meet  his  eyes !  In  a  twinkling  she  had  the  candles  lit, 
and  then,  the  little  festal  table  full  in  view,  she  flung 
the  outside  door  wide  open. 

VII 

Her  father  staggered  through  the  doorway. 

"  Don't  be  frightened  .  .  ."  he  managed  to  articu- 
late, trying  to  smile  —  and  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  Father,  what  is  it?  "  she  cried.     "  Oh,  Father!  " 

He  did  not  answer.  She  tried  to  lift  him,  but  he 
pushed  her  away. 

She  ran  from  the  cottage  and  past  the  few  inter- 
vening houses  to  summon  the  Pooles.  She  had  for- 
gotten the  table,  forgotten  the  feast,  forgotten 
everything  except  the  one  overwhelming  fact  that  on 
the  floor  of  the  cottage  behind  her  lay  her  father. 
But  when,  a  moment  later,  she  opened  the  door  for 
the  Pooles,  the  picture  that  presented  itself  struck  her 
with  shocking  force  —  the  two  lighted  candles  twin- 
kling merrily  on  the  supper  table,  the  pink  rose  up- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  31 

holding  its  head  bravely  between  them,  the  garnished 
dishes  1 

"  How  silly  that  table  looks  to  the  Pooles!  "  flashed 
through  her,  as  she  knelt  with  them  beside  her  father, 
in  an  agony  of  tenderness. 

VIII 

.  The  doctor  and  Mr.  Poole  were  with  her  father. 
Lydia  sat  looking  off  into  space,  listening  for  the  doc- 
tor's return  from  the  bedroom,  scarcely  hearing  the 
soft,  sympathetic  things  Mrs.  Poole  said  from  time  to 
time.  Something,  perhaps  a  little  stiffening  in  Mrs. 
Poole's  usually  tranquil  tones,  made  her  look  up. 

"  I  would  put  away  that  bottle,  dear."  Mrs. 
Poole's  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  supper  table,  expressed 
astonishment,  plainly  tinged  with  disapproval,  at  the 
pomp,  the  brilliant  circumstance,  with  which  Lydia  and 
her  father  were  apparently  in  the  habit  of  supping. 
"  I  would  certainly  put  it  away.  There  may  be  others 
in,  and  people  look  at  those  things  so  differently,  you 
know." 

Lydia  rose  slowly  from  her  chair,  went  to  the  table, 
and  blew  out  the  candles.  Then  she  resumed  her  seat. 
"  I  won't  tell  her  a  thing  about  the  birthday,"  she 
thought,  with  intolerance  of  Mrs.  Poole's  intolerance. 
This  cheap  little  bottle  of  claret  had  been  the  gala 
touch  to  her  feast. 

Mrs.  Poole  rose  very  gently,  and  removing  the  bottle 
herself,  carried  it  to  the  kitchen.  Lydia  could  hear 
the  pantry  door  open,  then  close. 

When  the  doctor  had  left,  she  crept  alone  into  her 


32  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

father's  room.  His  eyes  were  closed.  She  knelt  by 
the  bed,  leaning  her  head  against  his  arm. 

"Oh,  Father,  it's  your  birthday!  "  she  sobbed  out, 
at  last. 

One  of  his  big,  thin  hands  moved  feebly  to  her  hair, 
and  rested  there. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  Pooles  remained  all  night,  sitting  up,  and  this 
ominous  arrangement,  which  they  had  evidently 
made  with  the  doctor,  left  no  room  for  doubt  in  Lydia's 
mind  that  her  father's  condition  was  regarded  critical. 

Toward  midnight,  Mr.  Poole,  who  had  been  con- 
stantly darting  to  and  from  the  sickroom,  came  tip- 
toeing into  the  sitting  room  where  Lydia  and  Mrs. 
Poole  had  been  for  a  long  time  sitting  silently  faced 
to  each  other. 

"  Lydia,"  he  said,  already  employing  that  hushed 
voice  .which  bespeaks  the  house  of  death,  "  I'm  going 
to  make  a  fire  in  your  father's  room.  It  will  be  better 
to  have  one  there  now." 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  better,"  she  answered  in  a  dazed 
tone,  and  started  out  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  let  me  get  the  coal,  Lydia." 

She  turned  on  him  almost  savagely.  "  I'll  get  the 
coal,"  she  said,  passing  on  out. 

She  lit  a  lantern,  and  carried  it  out  with  her  to  the 
little  coal-house  in  the  rear  of  the  cottage  lot  and  placed 
it  in  the  door,  while  with  the  big  coal-shovel  she  filled 
her  bucket,  scraping  up  coal-dust  as  well  as  coal-lumps 
from  the  floor  of  the  shed. 

33 


34  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Her  eyes  travelled  in  the  uncertain  lantern  light  over 
the  smutty  shed.  How  many  buckets  full  were  left? 
—  Very  few;  but  as  she  made  her  laden  way  back  to 
the  cottage,  her  lantern  throwing  a  narrow  gleam 
ahead  of  her  in  the  midnight  blackness,  she  said  to 
herself  that  neither  the  Pooles,  nor  any  one  else,  should 
see  how  nearly  exhausted  the  coal  was. 

The  Pooles  were  the  best  people  in  the  world,  of 
course ;  but  her  place,  now,  was  to  keep  guard !  She 
would  stay  awake  all  night.  Strangers,  no,  nor  Pooles, 
should  look  into  all  the  pitiful  makeshifts  to  which  she 
and  her  father  had  been  driven.  No  one  should  know 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  decent  change  of  linen  for 
her  father's  bed,  with  all  her  darning  and  patching. 
She  would  manage  some  way  —  take  the  sheets  secretly 
from  her  own  bed  in  the  morning,  and  wash  them. 

Through  the  still  hours  of  the  long  night  she  sat 
in  an  armchair  by  the  fire,  Mrs.  Poole  drowsing  oppo- 
site her. 

But  a  time  came  when  she  felt  her  head  nodding. 
It  would  drop  down  upon  her  chest,  and  with  a  stu- 
pendous effort  she  would  prop  it  up  again  and  shake 
herself.  At  length  she  realised,  with  bewildered  anx- 
iety, that  she  was  falling  asleep. 

She  could  not  tell  how  long  she  had  been  asleep, 
when  she  became  aware  of  the  sound  of  muffled  voices 
that  at  first  she  took  to  be  a  long  distance  off,  and 
gradually  recognised  as  quite  near. 

"  And,  Edwin,  wine  and  flowers  on  the  table,  and 
not  fifty  cents'  worth  of  staple  groceries  in  this  house !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  35 

Mrs.  Poole's  whisper  cut  distinctly  across  the  field 
of  Lydia's  slowly  awakening  consciousness.  She  op- 
ened her  eyes  and  closed  them  quickly  again.  The 
Pooles  had  not  seen  her,  but  she  had  seen  them  in  that 
weird  mingled  light  when  dawn  creeps  in  at  the  window 
upon  the  lamp  still  lit.  They  were  hovering  over  the 
fire  together,  in  eager  consultation. 

"  I'll  get  some  towels  when  I  go  home  to  breakfast 
and  bring  them  back  with  me.  Would  you  believe  it, 
Edwin,  I  can't  find  a  whole  towel  in  this  house  ?  Such 
rags!  It's  pitiful!  Sheets  and  pillow-cases  the  same. 
I've  looked  everywhere;  'twas  the  only  kind  I  could 
find  —  and  mighty  few  of  those." 

Lydia  winced.  She  wanted  to  sit  up  and  say  aloud, 
with  her  eyes  flashed  wide  open  on  Mrs.  Poole :  "  I 
suppose,  then,  you've  been  snooping  in  the  coal-house, 
too !  —  as  you've  been  everywhere  else."  But  she 
only  lay  back  perfectly  still  in  her  chair,  with  closed 
eyes,  not  stirring  a  muscle,  afraid  even  lest  they  should 
catch  the  tense  intake  of  air  in  her  breathing. 

"Oh,  they're  so  unpractical!"  began  Mrs.  Poole 
again.  "  I  don't  know  whatever  will  become  of 
Lydia!" 

"So  that's  what  they're  speculating  on  already!" 
And  the  shock  of  the  thought  coming  all  at  once,  and 
for  the  first  time  fully,  to  her,  Lydia  wondered,  her- 
self, what  would  become  of  her  if  —  if  — ! 

"  Edwin,  do  you  suppose  there's  any  hope  at  all?  " 
Mrs.  Poole  resumed. 

"  Well,  he  might  last  a  week  or  so.     It's  my  opin- 


3  6  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ion,  though,"  he  concluded  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  at  once 
moved  and  sententious,  "  that  the  end'll  come  any  time 
now." 

The  end!  Dumb  sobs  that  had  been  struggling  in 
Lydia  broke  with  terrific  suddenness  on  the  hush  of 
the  room. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poole  sprang  toward  her. 

"  Oh,  I  just  woke  up  I  "  something  prompted  her  to 
cry  out  brokenly  between  her  sobs. 

II 

In  the  early  afternoon  of  the  dragging  day  which 
followed  a  knock  on  the  kitchen  door  aroused  her. 

The  driver  of  a  coal-wagon  stood  at  the  door. 

"  Wrong  house!  "  she  said  hastily. 

"  No,  it  ain't  the  wrong  house,  miss,"  he  persisted, 
holding  out  a  slip  for  her  to  sign.  "  Lambright  — " 
he  read,  emphatically,  "  Hill  Avenue  —  One  thousand 
pounds  —  Paid!  " 

"  I  won't  sign  it,"  announced  Lydia,  and  closed  the 
door  without  further  argument. 

"  All  right,"  the  man  shouted  back  cheerfully 
through  the  closed  door.  "  I'll  put  it  in  the  coal-house 
anyway.  Them's  my  orders !  " 

Lydia  sank  into  a  chair,  and  bowed  her  head  on  the 
table.  The  Pooles  had  looked  into  the  coal-house, 
then,  while  she  slept ! 

She  heard  the  harsh  rattle  of  the  coal  on  the  shed 
floor  as  the  driver  threw  it  in  shovelful  by  shovelful 
from  his  wagon.  She  stopped  her  ears.  The  first  — 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  37 

chanty!  Oh,  why  did  it  hurt  so  bitterly?  Why,  why, 
was  she  not  grateful? 

All  at  once,  something  struck  her  with  grim  humour ! 
"  One  thousand  pounds,"  the  man  had  read  from  the 
slip.  Mr.  Poole  had  realised  that  her  father  might 
not  live  till  a  whole  ton  of  coal  should  be  exhausted! 
How  canny !  —  a  half-ton !  How  tempered  with  dis- 
cretion Mr.  Poole's  charities  were  1 

But  suddenly  she  marvelled  at  the  wickedness  of  her 
own  heart  that  she  could  analyse  even  to  her  most 
secret  self  the  quality  of  Mr.  Poole's  kindness.  How 
good  Mr.  Poole  had  always  been  to  her!  Why, 
she  had  eaten  raspberries  out  of  his  hand,  when  she 
had  stood  beside  him,  no  higher  than  his  knee,  by  the 
bushes  in  his  garden !  Who  but  Mr.  Poole  had  raked 
and  heaped  great  beds  of  leaves  for  her  to  tumble  in, 
in  autumn  days  long  gone  by? 

Her  eyes  that  had  been  dry  and  burning  all  day  long 
gathered  a  slight  moisture.  .  .  .  Mr.  Poole  was  a 
truly  generous  man;  not  rich;  half  a  ton  from  him  was 
more  than  twenty  tons  from  —  say,  Mr.  Churchwell. 

Churchwell !  She  wondered  if  he  would  hear  about 
her  father  and  come  to  inquire.  "  Yes,"  she  thought, 
"he'll  come!"  Something  warm  and  soft  seemed 
suddenly,  as  she  imaged  his  coming,  to  flood  her  whole 
being.  She  fancied  his  coming  right  into  the  little 
kitchen  where  she  was  sitting  at  the  table  now  with 
bowed  head,  lifting  her  up,  so  gently,  gathering  her 
to  his  broad,  protecting  breast,  his  eyes  with  their  mes- 
meric gaze  looking  down  into  hers,  his  deep  voice 
whispering  to  her  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  "  My 


3  8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

poor,  poof  little  Lydia !  "  She  trembled  with  excite- 
ment, feeling  in  a  wild  transport  of  joy  that  his  lips 
were  actually  seeking  hers !  Never  before  had  her 
fancies  of  him  dared  so  far  —  to  such  thrilling  inti- 
macy —  and  it  was  strange,  indeed,  even  to  herself 
luxuriating  in  these  newborn  emotions,  that  such  fan- 
cies should  have  sprung  out  of  this  deepest,  most  hope- 
less misery  she  had  ever  known. 

Ill 

She  was  tapped  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  She  did  not 
look  up  at  once.  She  had  heard  some  one  come  into 
the  kitchen,  and  had  felt  a  slight  restiffening  of  her 
spirit  when  she  recognised  the  step  as  Mrs.  Poole's. 

"  A  package,  Lydia." 

Lydia  took  the  package  and  carried  it  to  her  bed- 
room, but  before  she  had  time  to  fasten  the  door  she 
felt  Mrs.  Poole  pushing  softly  behind  her  into  the 
room. 

;'  What  is  it?  "  queried  Mrs.  Poole,  eagerly. 

Lydia  without  a  word  began  untying  the  cord  around 
the  box  she  had  put  on  her  bed.  She  lifted  the  cover, 
threw  back  the  tissue  paper  wrappings,  and  revealed 
the  suit  she  had  purchased  the  day  before. 

"Oh!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Poole,  leaning  her  plump, 
elderly  person  against  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Framed 
with  its  grey  curls,  her  pretty  face,  in  which  softness 
and  sharpness  were  most  extraordinarily  blended,  be- 
trayed unusual  surprise.  "  Oh,  oh !  "  she  said,  quite 
playfully,  while  Lydia  remained  silent. 

"  New?  "  she  asked,  scanning  the  suit,  and  feeling  it. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  39 

"  I  bought  it  yesterday,"  Lydia  replied  briefly.  She 
took  the  suit  from  its  box,  and  as  she  walked  toward 
the  closet  to  hang  it  up,  she  felt  a  second  inquiry  strike, 
as  it  were,  against  the  back  of  her  head :  "  How  much 
did  you  give  for  it,  Lydia  —  if  I  may  ask?  " 

Lydia  hesitated;  then  she  answered,  her  back  still 
turned  to  Mrs.  Poole,  "  Thirty  dollars." 

"Thirty!" 

"  I  don't  lie,  usually,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  Mrs. 
Poole's  gently  reproachful,  "  Oh!  Very  pretty,  very," 
fell  on  her  ears,  "  but  when  people  ask  the  cost  of 
things  —  oh,  I  hate  curiosity !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  next  day  trays  borne  by  respectful  servants 
began  to  arrive  at  the  Lambright  cottage;  they 
came  not  only  from  the  neighbourhood  but  from  dis- 
tant quarters  of  the  town. 

Lydia  did  not  exactly  know  whether  these  broiled 
birds  and  moulds  of  jelly  and  airy  tea-rolls  were  for 
herself  or  for  her  father,  but  she  knew  quite  well  that 
she,  no  more  than  he,  could  have  swallowed  a  morsel 
of  any  of  these  dishes,  proffered,  many  of  them,  by  rich 
and  important  families  of  Kingsville  who  had  mani- 
fested no  previous  interest  in  her  father  except  in  active 
opposition  to  him  in  the  movement  of  opinion  that  had 
effected  his  removal  from  the  College. 

She  handled  the  exquisite  napery  and  china  with  an 
odd  mingling  of  defiance  and  satisfaction,  and  pon- 
dered half-ironically,  as  she  did  so,  the  ways  of  Kings- 
ville, which  she  and  her  father  had  sometimes  analysed 
laughingly  together  and  which  now,  no  laughter  in  her, 
were  brought  home  to  her  with  such  poignancy.  .  .  . 
Illness,  fatal  illness,  death,  burial  —  they  were  to 
Kingsville,  in  ascending  scale  of  interest,  what  the  play, 
the  ball-park,  the  race-track,  the  bull-fight,  offer  to  other 
communities,  and  the  house  of  illness,  the  house  of 
death,  were  always  crowded  with  the  old  town's  help- 

40 


41 

ful  or  curious,  friendly  or  managerial  spirits.  How 
eager  the  discussions  by  the  Kingsville  fireside  of  the 
mortal  malady,  the  appearance  of  the  "  remains  " ;  and 
how  willingly,  almost  blithely,  as  conferring  some  in- 
teresting importance  upon  himself,  the  Kingsvillian 
moved  to  the  office  of  pall-bearer.  With  what  anima- 
tion Kingsville  street-corners  speculated  on  the  amount 
the  dead  man  had  "  left,"  and  with  what  zeal  was  his 
relict,  whether  by  next  marriage  or  otherwise,  disposed 
of  in  the  carriages  that  wound  home  from  a  Kingsville 
burying-ground.  .  .  . 

Lydia  knew  that  now  for  their  brief  day  she  and  her 
father  would  furnish  wagging  for  Kingsville  tongues. 

II 

All  day  long,  in  unbroken  stream,  people  called, 
among  them  faces  she  could  not  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  before,  and  while  many  only  inquired  with  polite 
solicitude  at  the  door,  others,  who  had  never  before 
been  inside  the  cottage,  now  pushed  their  way  in  and 
offered  their  sympathy  and  assistance  with  eyes  whose 
roving  Lydia  was  keenly  alive  to  and  resented  angrily. 

As  the  afternoon  sun  began  pouring  into  the  win- 
dows of  the  sitting  room,  she  saw  with  uneasiness  that 
the  worn  spots  of  the  carpet  and  furniture  would  be 
more  and  more  uncompromisingly  disclosed,  and  she 
pulled  the  window  shades  down  to  the  sills  of  the  win- 
dows. 

"  Lydia,  I  would  have  the  shades  up  If  I  were  you! 
The  room  would  be  more  cheerful."  Mrs.  Poole  took 
hold  of  one  of  the  lowered  shades  to  raise  it. 


42  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  I  don't  want  the  room  cheerful !  I  don't  want  it 
cheerful,  Mrs.  Poole !  "  she  cried.  "  Leave  the  shades 
down!" 

Ill 

As  it  drew  near  to  sunset,  Dr.  Dunbar  came.  He 
was  a  clergyman,  a  very  tall,  thin,  frail-looking  old 
man.  Her  father  held  him  in  high  regard,  she  knew, 
and  she  had  always  looked  up  to  him  with  affectionate 
veneration;  but  she  was  on  the  alert  now,  wary  of 
every  one. 

He  rose  and  took  her  hand  as  she  came  into  the 
room,  looking  down  on  her  with  an  expression  of  ten- 
der sympathy. 

"  Lydia,  would  you  like  me  to  see  your  father?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  She  answered  vehemently,  drawing 
away  her  hand. 

For  an  instant  he  looked  at  her  blankly,  then  he 
asked  with  gentle  emphasis,  "  Lydia,  do  you  think  your 
father  would  like  to  see  me?  " 

Swift  as  thought  she  placed  her  back  against  the 
door  that  led  into  the  sickroom. 

"  My  father  doesn't  need  instruction  in  the  art  of 
dying,  Dr.  Dunbar!  He  has  lived  nobly!  He  will 
die  nobly!" 

The  frail  old  clergyman,  who  in  his  long  life  had 
witnessed  many  kinds  of  suffering,  took  no  affront  to 
his  personal  or  to  his  ecclesiastical  importance. 

"  Daughter,  you  are  right,"  he  said  slowly,  looking 
down  at  her  with  lenient  eyes;  "your  father  needs  no 
instruction  in  dying.  He  has  lived  well.  He  will  die 


43 

well.  It  is  not  as  a  clergyman,  but  as  his  friend,  I 
had  thought  — " 

Lydia  suddenly  seized  his  hand  in  both  hers,  raised 
it  to  her  eyes,  and  hid  her  burning  face  on  it. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Dunbar,  forgive  me,  please  forgive  me," 
she  said  low  and  piteously.  "  Everything  is  so  ter- 
rible!" 

She  felt  him  patting  her  head  with  his  free  hand, 
and  she  felt  a  moment's  healing  in  the  gentle,  generous 
touch  of  the  soft  withered  old  hand,  but  with  the  first 
creak  of  the  sickroom  door  opening  behind  her,  she 
straightened  up,  instantly  mistrustful  again,  and  her 
eyes,  wild  and  over-wrought,  strained  at  him  through 
her  tears. 

"  But  you  won't  go  in,  you  won't  go  in,  Dr.  Dun- 
bar?  "...  They  should  not  say,  those  people  who 
talked  so  much,  "  Professor  Lambright  gave  up  those 
'  monkey '  views  of  his,  when  he  came  to  die;  wanted  a 
preacher  with  him."  No,  not  if  she  had  to  murder 
some  one  to  prevent,  they  shouldn't  say  it  I 

The  old  clergyman  quieted  her.  "  No,  Lydia,  I 
won't  go  in;  but  if  you  want  me,  or  I  can  help  you,  at 
any  time,  let  me  know.  I'll  come." 

IV 

Dr.  Dunbar  had  gone,  and  she  sat  with  her  elbow 
on  the  pine  work-table  in  the  kitchen,  her  head  drooped 
against  her  hand. 

"  Lydia,  I  want  to  speak  to  you.   .   .   ." 
Mrs.  Poole  entered  and  shut  the  door  behind  her, 
circumspectly  providing  for  privacy. 


44  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  I  hope  you  won't  take  anything  I  say  amiss,  Lydia. 
I'm  sure  no  person  has  your  welfare  at  heart  more  than 
Mr.  Poole  and  me." 

She  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  splint-bottomed 
chairs.  Her  smooth  face  —  on  which  during  sixty 
years  only  a  few,  and  those  the  minor,  frets  of  life 
had  done  a  little  light  sketching  here  and  there  — 
wore  an  expression  of  unusual  concern. 

"  You're  doing  yourself  an  injustice,  Lydia,  you  cer- 
tainly are,  to  behave  to  a  minister  like  you  did  to  Dr. 
Dunbar!" 

"  I  don't  respect  ministers  as  much  as  I  do  other 
people  .  .  ."  answered  Lydia,  sullenly,  evading  the 
eyes  of  her  accuser. 

"Oh,  Lydia,  how  can  you  say  such  things?  How 
can  you?"  Mrs.  Poole  leaned  across  the  table,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears.  "  I've  always  been  so  fond  of  your 
father,  Mr.  Poole  and  I,  both,  and  we've  always  hoped 
that  some  time  the  truth  would  come  to  him  — " 

"  The  truth?"  Lydia  repeated  indignantly. 

''  We've  known  him  seventeen  years,  and  he  was  a 
good  man,  but  Mr.  Poole  and  I  think  he  ought  to  have 
a  minister  with  him  now.  A  minister  who  was  his 
friend,  like  Dr.  Dunbar,  he  couldn't  object  to  —  to 
pray  with  him  now  .  .  ." 

"  Pray  with  him !  Why  should  any  one  pray  with 
my  father?  No  better  man  ever  lived  than  my 
father!" 

"  Yes,  but  —  an  infidel,  Lydia  !  " 

"  Infidel!  "     Lydia  brought  her  hand  down  on  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  45 

table  with  angry  force.  "  Yes,  in  Kingsville,  that's 
what  you  call  every  one  who  has  enlightened  views, 
views  you  don't  understand!  " 

Mrs.  Poole's  mouth  tightened,  there  was  a  twitch- 
ing in  the  region  of  her  lapped  chins,  a  great  deal  of 
blood  had  rushed  to  her  face,  and  the  admirable  con- 
formation of  her  nose  sharpened  to  a  slight  point  not 
ordinarily  observable. 

"  Lydia,  you  ought  to  be  careful  what  you  say,  and 
how  you  act!  It  was  not  only  your  father  —  but  your 
mother  —  it's  my  duty  to  tell  you,  so  you  may  be  cau- 
tious —  there  was  talk  — " 

Lydia,  in  a  distant  and  stupefied  voice,  interrupted 
her. 

"  My  mother  .  .  ." 

Then  she  shook  Mrs.  Poole's  hand  from  her  shoul- 
der, and  her  eyes  slowly  gathered  a  fiercer  and  fiercer 
light.  "Don't  you  dare  speak  of  my  mother  — 
that  way — Mrs.  Poole!"  .  .  .  Between  great  sobs, 
her  words  broke  spasmodically:  "You  don't  know 
.  .  .  anything  .  .  .  about  my  mother.  .  .  .  She  was  a 
foreigner  .  .  .  and  so  you  didn't  understand  her  .  .  . 
any  of  you.  ...  It  was  just  like  my  father's  lectures 
.  .  .  people  didn't  understand  her  .  .  .  any  more 
than  they  did  ...  his  lectures  .  .  .  and  what  they 
don't  understand  .  .  .  they  condemn  .  .  .  and  they 
made  up  mean  things  about  her  ...  I  suppose  .  .  . 
from  what  you  say.  .  .  .  Oh,  Mrs.  Poole,  how  could 
you  be  so  cruel  as  to  insinuate  anything  about  my 
mother,  now !  " 


46  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Hush,  hush,  Lydia !     Hush,  dear !  " 

But  Lydia  sobbed  on  even  after  Mrs.  Poole  had  left 
her. 

All  the  disquieting  suspicions  of  past  years  had 
sprung  into  life  again.  Her  thoughts  were  running 
back  feverishly  to  a  day  of  her  childhood,  when  the 
word  of  a  malicious  little  playmate  had  set  her  think- 
ing. And  just  now,  on  the  threshold  of  revelation,  she 
had  pushed  away  with  frantic  dread  the  hand  that 
would  have  opened  to  her  the  gate  of  mystery.  Wil- 
fully she  had  remained  in  darkness  —  she  would  never 
know,  now,  what  it  was  they  had  said  about  her  mother. 


When  it  was  night,  she  took  down  an  old  cape  that 
hung  on  a  nail  above  her,  wrapped  herself  in  it,  and 
went  outside,  sitting  down  on  the  kitchen  doorstep  with 
her  back  to  the  house. 

Mrs.  Poole  urged  her  tenderly  to  come  in  out  of  the 
cold  and  dark;  Mr.  Poole  added  his  entreaties;  even 
the  doctor  laboured  gravely  with  her.  But  Lydia  re- 
mained obdurate  to  all  appeals.  If  she  could  have 
been  alone  by  her  father's  side,  nothing  could  have 
separated  her  from  that  sacred  place,  but  she  had  been 
helpless  to  prevent  his  delivery  into  other  hands. 

She  got  up  from  the  step  where  her  limbs  were 
growing  numb,  and  shivering  in  the  night  air  which 
wrapped  like  a  sheet,  icy-wet,  about  her,  she  made  her 
way  around  the  little  house  to  the  front  yard,  walked 
slowly  down  to  the  wall  that  separated  it  from  the 
street,  and  stood  above  it,  peering  off  into  the  darkness, 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  47 

which  here  and  there  under  a  street-lamp  was  splotched 
with  half-bright  spots,  where  fairylike  the  tree- 
branches  threw  their  tossing  shadows.  The  night  was 
beautiful  to  her,  steeped  in  delights,  exquisite  witch- 
eries; even  now  in  her  misery,  beautiful  to  her,  and 
moving! 

She  heard  the  chatter  of  approaching  voices. 
Around  the  corner  and  along  the  street  came  three 
youthful  couples,  a  gay  troop.  The  girls  swished- 
swished  softly,  holding  up  carelessly  under  their  long 
wraps  chiffon  and  silk  dancing-skirts.  The  young  men, 
gallantly  slouching,  wore  their  overcoats  loose  from 
the  shoulders,  exposing  white  expanses  of  evening  linen. 

An  agitating  blend  of  perfume  —  waking  her  blood 
to  what  momentary  mad  ardours,  perilous  wanderlust! 
—  rose  to  Lydia  with  this  passing  of  the  party-clad  — 
violet,  super-distilled,  wafted  up  to  her  from  a  web  of 
lace  handkerchief,  cigarette  fume,  scent  of  jasmine 
from  one  of  these  little  dancing-bodices.  .  .  . 

The  third  couple  noticed  her  standing  bare-headed, 
her  cape  clutched  about  her,  only  a  little  above 
them. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Lydia?  How's  your  father?" 
And  hardly  had  her  low  answer  been  given  — "  About 
the  same  " —  till  on  they  swept,  their  laughter  drifting 
back  to  her.  Were  they  laughing  at  her?  Surely  not, 
yet  the  sound  of  their  laughter,  following  so  close  their 
greeting  and  inquiry,  made  her  feel  that  they  were. 
How  alone  she  felt!  As  they  passed  under  a  neigh- 
bouring street-light,  she  could  detect  the  bags  that 
dangled  from  the  girls'  arms,  replete,  she  knew,  with 


48  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

all  the  little  vanities  —  high-heels,  powder-rags  —  be- 
loved of  her  girlish  soul,  too  1 

VI 

She  saw  a  man's  form  moving  toward  her  down  the 
walk  from  the  house;  nearer  she  discerned  it  the  se- 
date, long-coated,  rather  pompous  figure  of  Dr.  Wil- 
liams; and  when  this  time  he  said  to  her  simply, 
"  Lydia,  you  had  better  come  in,"  all  the  impulses  that 
had  hitherto  kept  her  from  her  father's  room,  suddenly 
gave  way  to  an  overpowering  eagerness  to  reach  it. 

She  had  never  before  looked  on  death,  and  was  to 
see  it  now  seldom  so  terrible  in  its  approach.  All 
night,  and  to  'almost  the  last  flutter  of  her  father's 
breath,  she  watched  this  agonised  battling  of  his  flesh 
to  hold,  still,  the  spirit  it  encased  —  of  the  spirit  to 
struggle  free  its  prison.  And  she  tried,  as  never  be- 
fore in  her  life  she  had  tried,  to  be  brave;  it  was  the 
last  thing  she  could  do  for  her  father  —  help  him  to 
die.  .  .  .  But  when  he  began  at  last  to  beg  to  be  de- 
livered from  his  torment,  she  lifted  herself  from  her 
aching  knees,  and  caught  hold  of  the  doctor  with  sud- 
den desperate  strength. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  give  him  something!  Give  him  some- 
thing! "  she  implored. 

"  Anything  to  alleviate,  now,  Lydia,  would  precipi- 
tate—" 

She  broke  in  on  the  doctor's  measured  words  fren- 
ziedly: 

"  Oh,  bring  the  end,  bring  it!  " 

She  was  silenced  by  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  49 

In  all  these  hours  of  vigil  —  years  it  seemed  to  her 
—  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  her  name,  or  had 
seemed  to  know  that  she  was  in  the  room. 

Her  gaze  fixed  with  awe  on  the  big  wasted  figure 
propped  up  with  pillows  in  the  bed.  His  eyes  were 
wide  open,  blue  —  as  she  had  never  before  seen  them, 
or  known  eyes  could  be,  but  she  saw  that  they  were 
sightless,  for  as  he  said  in  a  low,  removed  voice, 
"  Lydia,  is  that  you?  "  the  blue  eyes  staring  from  his 
haggard,  unshaven  face  were  focused  on  vacant  space. 

"  I'll  go  with  the  dawn,"  he  whispered,  after  a  little 
pause. 

"  Turn  me  ...  so  I  can  face  .  .  .  the  coming 
day.  .  .  ." 

They  turned  him  so  that  his  face  might  be  toward 
the  light  of  morning  when  it  came. 

Suddenly  on  the  hush  of  the  room  the  crowing  of  a 
cock  broke;  then  a  cock's  faint,  far  off  answer;  then 
a  chorus  of  cocks,  far  and  near,  that  sounded  strangely 
ominous,  and  unearthly,  in  Lydia's  ears. 

Her  father  was  speaking  again. 

"  Lydia,  I  didn't  expect  to  die,  yet." 

She  saw  the  others  fall  a  little  away  from  the  bed, 
but  she  had  ceased  to  care  what  privacies  should  be 
overheard.  What,  at  last,  were  privacies?  What 
was  anything  to  her?  What  mattered,  except  that  she 
should  save  him  whatever  of  anguish  she  could. 

"  It's  all  right,  Father.  It's  all  right.  Don't  worry. 
I'll  get  along. 

"  Father,  you  know  how  I  love  you !  "  she  whispered 
to  him, 


50  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

He  knew.  Nevertheless,  some  impulse,  more  pow- 
erful than  she  could  resist,  made  her  seek  to  reach  him 
with  this  last  yearning  assurance. 

"  Lydia  .  .  .  don't  get  anything  .  .  .  fine  .  .  . 
for  me.  Promise.  You  need  all  ...  the  little  in- 
surance. .  .  .  Promise  .  .  .  just  a  plain  —  coffin." 

Her  cry  died  on  her  lips.  A  singular  and  indescrib- 
able radiance  was  suffusing  her  father's  plain  face. 
Ravaged  and  emaciate,  it  was  touched  now  to  sublime 
resignation,  to  the  eternal  peace;  transfigured  before 
her  eyes  to  a  beauty  more  strange  and  touching  and 
noble  than  aught  she  had  ever  seen  or  dreamed ! 

Suddenly  she  was  conscious  of  a  quick  movement 
among  the  other  watchers  by  the  bed.  Her  father's 
chin  had  dropped  to  his  breast —  and  she  saw,  amazed, 
that  it  was  as  he  had  said  it  would  be  —  the  sky 
streaked  with  light !  It  had  come  —  the  Dawn ! 


CHAPTER  V 


LYDIA  accepted  with  silent  docility  the  small  cup 
of  hot  broth  which  Mrs.  Poole  brought  her.  It 
was  noon:  and  she  had  been  lying  on  the  bed  in  her 
own  room,  all  through  the  hours  since  her  father's  death 
at  break  of  day,  stunned  and  lifeless;  but  as  she  finished 
sipping  the  broth,  she  asked  for  Mr.  Poole. 

;' What  is  it,  Lydia,  you  want  to  see  him  about? 
Can't  I  see  to  it  for  you?  " 

"  No,  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Poole." 

Mr.  Poole  sat  down  facing  Lydia's  bed,  placing  his 
neat,  spare  figure  quite  forward  in  his  chair,  almost 
on  the  edge  of  it,  indeed. 

"  Mr.  Poole,  have  you  seen  about  the  coffin  yet?  " 

He  jumped  with  the  startling  directness  of  Lydia's 
question,  her  dark  eyes,  so  big  in  her  white  face, 
straight  on  him. 

"  Oh,  Lydia,  leave  all  that  to  me,  leave  all  that  to 
me  .  .  ." 

He  passed  his  hand  nervously  over  his  head.  A 
lonely  January  fly,  sturdy  survivor  of  a  Kingsville 
winter  of  unprecedented  rigour,  persisted,  to  his  evi- 
dent annoyance,  in  walking  and  rewalking  the  thin 
strands  of  hair  decorously  trained  across  the  bald  crown 
of  his  head.  Lydia  wondered,  with  a  vague  feeling  of 

51 


52  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

'disgust  for  herself,  how  at  such  a  moment  she  could 
notice  anything  so  absurdly  and  horridly  irrelevant; 
but  with  the  queer  and  sometimes  quite  undignified  be- 
haviour of  the  human  mind,  she  did  pertinaciously  re- 
gard the  fly,  even  the  while  she  put  to  Mr.  Poole  her 
second  calm  and  awful  inquiry. 

"  What  kind  of  a  coffin  did  you  get?  " 

"  Oh,  a  very  nice  casket,  a  very  nice  one." 

"  Expensive?  " 

Mr.  Poole  fidgeted  on  his  chair.  "Expensive?" 
He  cleared  his  throat.  "  Why,  you  wouldn't  want 
anything  ornate,  Lydia !  Your  father  wouldn't  want 
anything  of  that  kind." 

"  /  would." 

Her  eyes,  never  wavering,  bored  into  Mr.  Poole's; 
they  were  trying  to  bore  into  his  skull,  into  the  inner- 
most recesses  of  his  practical  and  cautious  brain;  she 
did  not  propose  to  be  circumvented  by  any  covert, 
cheese-paring  ideas  of  his  at  such  a  time. 

Mr.  Poole  kept  clearing  his  throat,  and  again  and 
again  uneasily  settled  his  waist-coat. 

'  Why,  Lydia,  let  me  see  to  these  things  for  you. 
.  .  .  Let  me  see  to  them  for  youl  " 

She  lifted  herself  from  the  pillow.  She  was  so 
violently  agitated  that  her  whole  body  shook.  Her 
dry  lips  clung  together. 

"  Mr.  Poole,  I  want  the  handsomest  casket  in  Kings- 
ville  for  my  father,  the  handsomest  one." 

Mr.  Poole  stared  at  her. 

"  Lydia,  my  dear  girl!  "  he  found  voice  at  last  to 
exclaim  protestingly. 


53 

"  The  handsomest  one  I  "  she  repeated.  "  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"I  wouldn't  be  foolish,  Lydia !  Your  father 
wouldn't  want  you  to  be.  ...  Just  something  neat, 
and  suitable  — " 

"  Suitable!  —  nothing  is  too  precious  to  suit  my  fa- 
ther." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  of  course  not,  Lydia,  of  course  not! 
I  didn't  mean  that."  His  hands  as  well  as  Lydia's 
were  shaking. 

"  Mr.  Poole,  if  you  won't  promise  to  get  the  hand- 
somest one  in  Kingsville  for  me  —  I'll  go  down  and 
get  it  myself,  from  the  —  the  —  undertaker!" 

But  as  she  finished  speaking,  and  made  an  effort  to 
rise  from  the  bed,  the  frightened  look  on  Mr.  Poole's 
face  showed  her  she  need  no  longer  fear  his  resist- 
ance. 

"  Lydia,  are  there  any  kin  of  your  father  that  should 
be  notified?  "  he  asked  in  a  shy,  faltering  voice,  wiping 
beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 

It  was  Lydia's  turn  to  start!  She  had  not  antici- 
pated this  question,  and  a  wave  of  painful  warmth 
passed  over  her  cold  body. 

"  I  think  .  .  .  there  is  no  one  ...  at  all  ..  ." 
she  said  hesitatingly.  "  My  father  has  no  near  rela- 
tives .  .  .  living." 

As  Lydia  heard  herself  speaking  these  words,  she 
wondered  if  they  were  indeed  true ! 

Her  moment  of  abstraction  was  broken  into  by  a 
loud,  dreary,  sing-song  voice  calling  something  from 
the  street  outside. 


54 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


"  O-h,  o-h,  I  hab,  I  hab,  I  hab  three  kinds." 
It  was  the  old  black  fishman  going  by,  calling  out 
his  fish:  his  cry  varied  with  the  luck  of  his  fishing  — 
"  Two  kinds,"  "  One  kind,"  "  Three  kinds." 


i 


O — h,  O — h,  I   hab,    I  hab,  I  hab  three  kinds,  I  hab  three  kinds. 

They  were  the  first  words  lisped  by  a  Kingsville 
baby:  "  I  hab,  I  hab,  I  hab  three  kinds,"  mocking  the 
old  fishman. 

Could  it  be  possible,  thought  Lydia,  as  the  old 
darky's  long-drawn-out,  melancholy  strain  floated  in 
to  her,  that  things  were  going  on  as  usual  in  Kings- 
ville? It  struck  her  as  heartless,  that  people  should 
be  buying  fish,  eating  fish,  as  if  nothing  had  happened! 

"  O-h,  o-h,  I  hab,  I  hab,  I  hab  three  kinds,  I  hab 
three  kinds." 

How  often  she  had  heard  the  call,  and  had  run  down 
to  the  gate.  "Fresh,  Uncle?"  she  would  ask,  and 
with  his  old  woolly  head  ceremoniously  uncovered  to 
her,  regularly  would  come  his  answer:  "  Yas  'um, 
f  raish !  I  cotched  'em  dis  mornin' !  " 

The  old  darky's  mournful  cry  came  back  to  the 
bedroom  faintly  now,  from  a  distance.  "  O-h,  o-h,  I 
hab  .  .  ." 

It  was  all  she  could  make  out  distinctly.  A  queer, 
and  almost  exciting,  idea  flashed  through  her;  she  asked 
herself  whether  ever  again  she  would  run  out  and  buy 
from  him  his  "  fraish-cotched  "  river  fish. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  -55 

No,  Lydia,  never,  never,  again!  When  years  have 
passed,  when  his  old  black  body  is  mouldering  in  the 
blacks'  burying-ground  of  Kingsville,  far  off  in  a  for- 
eign land  you  will  wake  in  the  deep  of  night  from  your 
troubled  sleep,  and  you  will  think  you  have  heard  the 
old  black  fishman  of  Kingsville  calling,  "  I  hab,  I 
hab  .  .  ."  But  it  will  be  only  in  your  dream,  Lydia, 
that  he  was  calling. 

II 

"  About  the  music,  Lydia  .  .  ." 

Mr.  Poole  had  risen. 

"  About  the  music,  Lydia.  Would  there  be  any 
particular  hymns  you'd  prefer  at  the  funeral?"  he 
asked. 

Lydia  looked  at  him  wonderingly  for  the  fraction  of 
a  minute. 

"  Hymns?  "  she  repeated  after  him  a  little  absently. 

"  I  don't  want  any  hymns,"  she  said,  rather 
brusquely,  sinking  back  on  her  pillow,  as  if  the  matter 
were  settled  without  further  ado. 

Mr.  Poole  approached  the  bedside. 

'  There  must  be  two  hymns  at  the  house,  Lydia, 
and  one  at  the  grave,"  he  said,  in  a  firm,  dry  manner 
she  had  occasionally  seen  before  when  he  was  putting 
through  some  measure  that  had  met  with  neighbour- 
hood, or  with  slight  domestic  interference.  It  had 
formerly  made  her  a  little  afraid.  Nothing  dismayed 
her  now. 

"  /  won't  have  one  hymn!  "  she  answered  him.  "  I 
hate  hymns!  "  she  exclaimed  defiantly. 


5  6  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

A  little  vibrating  silence  fell  between  them ;  and  then 
he  began  explaining  to  her  the  necessary  procedures  of 
Christian  burial. 

"  Surely  grand  old  hymns,  Lydia,  like  — " 

"  No,  no!  "  she  broke  in  on  him  vehemently.  "  I 
don't  want  '  Lead,  Kindly  Light,'  '  Nearer,  My  God, 
to  Thee,'  '  Abide  with  Me,'  not  any  of  them !  I  think 
they're  all  dreadful!  Oh,  I  hate  them  all!  " 

"Lydia!     Lydia!" 

"  Mr.  Poole,  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  them,  not  one !  " 

in 

For  a  long  time  after  Mr.  Poole,  unalterably 
shocked,  but  vanquished,  had  made  his  prim  exit  from 
the  room,  Lydia's  thoughts  ran  chaotically;  then  she 
sank  into  a  sort  of  torpor,  only  conscious  of  a  dull 
misery,  without  hope,  almost  without  form,  except  now 
and  then  when  she  was  made  sickeningly  aware,  by 
some  sound  that  reached  her  through  the  walls,  of  the 
soft-stepped  preparations  going  busily  forward  all 
around  her  in  the  cottage. 

In  the  four  winters  they  had  lived  in  the  cottage 
rarely  had  a  fire  been  lighted  in  her  own  or  in  her 
father's  bedroom;  all  winter  long  the  two  bedrooms 
had  been  clammy  as  caves,  but  now  flames  had  been 
set  licking  up  these  damp,  unused  flues,  and  occasion- 
ally when  she  opened  her  eyes  she  wondered  vaguely 
why  her  bedroom  looked  unfamiliar  to  her. 

It  was  a  fair-sized  room,  not  very  light  or  cheery  at 
any  season  of  year  or  time  of  day.  Its  paper,  a  frigid 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  57 

blue,  had  begun  to  peel  and  drop  off  the  wall  in  many 
places.  But  she  had  made  her  girlish  attempts  to 
mitigate  the  room's  air  of  general  dreariness.  She 
had  hung  white  muslin  draperies  at  the  window  and 
placed  them  on  the  dresser,  very  adroitly  arranged  them 
to  hide  their  holes  and  darns,  though  their  pristine 
freshness  could  never  be  long  maintained  in  the  soot 
laden  atmosphere  of  Kingsville.  She  had  pinned  on 
the  wall  a  little  group  of  black  and  white  magazine  cuts, 
an  Annunciation,  Botticelli's,  Rossetti's  Astarte  Syriaca 
—  such  things,  that  had  taken  her  fancy.  And  she  had 
achieved  what  she  regarded  a  real  touch  of  distinction 
in  her  bureautop  —  a  brush,  once  her  mother's,  re- 
deeming with  its  gleam  of  gold  her  own  scanty  array 
of  cheap  little  toilet  implements.  What  worlds  of  ro- 
mance she  had  woven  from  nothing  more  than  the  im- 
ages evoked  by  her  mother's  name  on  the  back  of  this 
beautiful  brush  —  Aimee,  in  half-effaced  script. 

But  now  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  from  time  to  time 
she  opened  her  eyes  briefly  from  a  sort  of  sleepless  sleep, 
and  saw  all  these  little  treasures  that  had  previously 
had  for  her  individual  and  interesting  existence,  they 
ceased  to  have  for  her  that  kind  of  existence.  She  de- 
rived no  solace  even  from  the  soft  pinkish  glow  from 
the  open  fire  that  was  bathing  them  now;  there  was 
only  a  sort  of  blankness  enveloping  things,  and  now 
and  again  a  fearful  shudder  running  through  her  as  it 
came  back  upon  her  with  overpowering  force,  the  re- 
alisation of  what  had  happened.  Never  to  feel  her 
father's  big  hand  clasping  hers  again,  never  to  catch 


5  8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

again  that  humorous  twinkle  in  his  grave  eyes !     Could 
she  stand  it?     Could  she  live  without  him?  .  .  . 

She  heard  the  door  open  a  little,  then  further,  though 
still  very  gently,  and  in  the  next  instant  was  aware  of 
Mrs.  Poole  approaching  the  bed,  two  great  paste-board 
boxes  in  her  arms. 

IV 

Mrs.  Poole  moved  with  the  resiliency  common  to 
big,  plump  women,  but  with  a  step  even  more  buoyant 
than  usual  she  came  over  to  the  bedside,  and  with  a 
little  air  of  triumph  discharged  her  arms  of  a  load  that 
had  evidently  been  pleasant  for  them  to  carry. 

"  Lydia,  people  are  so  kind  in  time  of  trouble,  aren't 
they?"  she  said,  placing  the  boxes  beside  Lydia  on 
the  bed,  and  lifting  their  covers. 

"  Mrs.  Wyndham  Wood  sent  them,  dear, —  every- 
thing you'll  need.  Wasn't  it  thoughtful  of  her?  " 

She  lifted  out  a  black  dress  of  some  fine  woolen 
material,  trimmed  with  narrow  crape  bands. 

"  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Wood,"  remarked  Lydia, 
briefly.  She  had  raised  her  head  to  look  at  the  dress, 
but  she  let  it  sink  back  upon  her  pillow  again,  as  if 
she  was  no  longer  interested. 

"  You  know  of  her,  Lydia,"  observed  Mrs.  Poole 
unflinchingly.  "  One  of  the  best  women  in  this 
town  .  .  ."  She  continued  to  unload  the  boxes. 

Lydia  regarded  with  suspicious  and  disdainful  eyes 
each  article  displayed  to  her:  the  black  petticoat,  the 
handkerchief  with  its  deep  black  border,  the  dull  black 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  59 

gloves,    dull    black    purse,    even    a    dull    black    fan. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  wear  any  of  those  things,  Mrs. 
Poole." 

"  Oh,  Lydia !  "  Mrs.  Poole  gasped.  "  You  wouldn't 
hurt  Mrs.  Wood's  feelings,  surely  1" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  wear  them.  My  father  hated 
mourning." 

Mrs.  Poole  looked  at  her  silently.  A  few  tears  had 
gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  must  decide  for  yourself,  Lydia,  of  course, 
whether  you'll  wear  mourning  or  not,"  she  said,  at 
length,  rather  quietly.  "  I've  always  felt,  myself,  that 
there  was  so  little  we  could  do  for  the  dead,  I  was  glad 
to  do  that  for  them."  She  raised  her  eye-brows 
slightly. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  wear  them,  Mrs.  Poole." 

All  at  once  Lydia  saw  that  the  mysterious  point  she 
had  noticed  before  was  forming  now  at  the  end  of  Mrs. 
Poole's  handsome  nose. 

"  What  will  you  wear  .  .  .  to-morrow  ...  to  the 
cemetery?  " 

"  My  new  brown  suit  .  .  .  he  gave  me  .  .  ." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Poole  seemed  unable  to  find  her 
voice;  then  she  burst  out:  "  I  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing,  Lydia !  And  no  music !  .  .  .  I  should  think  it'd 
be  the  last  time  in  the  world  you'd  want  to  do  anything 
to  be  talked  about,  Lydia  .  .  .  Well,  surely,  you'll 
wear  a  veil  over  your  face,  and  hat  .  .  ." 

"  No,  I'm  not  going  to  wear  any  veil." 

Mrs.  Poole  stood  erect  by  the  bedside,  looking  down 


6o 

almost  threateningly  at  the  white  face,  tearless  and  im- 
movable, on  the  pillow  below  her. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,  Lydia,"  she  said  slowly,  letting 
Lydia  see  that  her  store  of  patience  had  approached 
perilously  near  an  end,  "  I  shouldn't  wonder,  my  dear, 
if  you  keep  on  like  this,  if  you'd  be  your  own  worst 
enemy!  " 


CHAPTER  VI 


LYDIA  had  asked  at  last  to  see  Dr.  Dunbar,  and 
to  see  him  alone.     The  fire  in  the  grate  had  died 
down  and  the  bedroom  was  grey  and  shadowy  as  he 
entered  it,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  bedside.     He 
bent  over,  to  see  her  more  distinctly. 

She  had  consented  to  put  on  a  wrapper  of  Mrs. 
Poole,  and  her  slim  figure  was  almost  buried  in  its 
voluminous  folds.  Grief  had  wrought  appalling 
changes  in  her  face;  its  pallor  was  almost  the  pallor 
of  death;  the  bones  stood  out  with  startling  prominence 
above  the  hollows  that  had  come  in  her  cheeks;  and 
her  sunken  eyes  gave  to  her  childish  face,  in  its  frame 
of  bright,  disordered  hair,  a  look  singularly  aged. 

"  Lydia,  did  you  want  to  see  me?"  asked  the  old 
clergyman  softly. 

She  opened  her  eyes  heavily,  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  faint,  wistful  smile.  Yes,  there  was  something 
she  wanted  to  say  to  him,  but  whenever  she  tried  to 
speak,  the  tightness  and  excruciating  pain  in  her  throat 
seemed  to  prevent  her  doing  so. 

He  sat  down  close  to  the  bed,  and  waited. 

"  Dr.  Dunbar,  to-morrow,  at  the  funeral,"  she  began 
at  last,  slowly,  "  will  you  please  .  .  .  not  to  apologise 
in  your  sermon  .  .  .  for  my  father's  not  being  ...  a 
Christian?" 

ft 


62  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Daughter,  can't  you  trust  me?  " 

"  I  can't  trust  any  one." 

There  was  no  hostility  in  her  tone.  If  there  was 
any  one  in  the  world  she  felt  tenderness  for,  now  that 
her  father  was  gone,  it  was  for  this  frail  old  minister; 
he  was  better,  and  broader  of  mind,  than  the  other 
ministers  of  Kingsville  —  she  thought  that ;  still,  he  was 
a  minister,  and  she  must  make  him  understand! 

"  I've  only  been  to  two  funerals,"  she  resumed 
huskily,  after  a  little  silence,  "  and  at  one  of  them,  the 
minister  apologised,  said  the  man  .  .  .  was  a  good 
man  .  .  .  but  wasn't  a  Christian  .  .  ." 

Her  breath  came  with  difficulty. 

"  My  father  was  a  Christian,  Dr.  Dunbar.  I  know 
what  Christ  taught  —  my  father  lived  what  he  taught ! 
I  never  saw  him  do  an  ignoble  thing,  or  heard  him  say 
an  ignoble  word.  .  .  .  Charity,  and  humility  —  that 
was  what  Christ  taught,  wasn't  it,  Dr.  Dunbar?  .  .  . 
Well,  my  father  was  a  Christian,  then!  And  those 
ministers  that  said  he  wasn't  —  they're  not  worthy  to 
have  tied  the  shoe  of  a  man  like  my  father!  Oh,  I 
tell  you,  Dr.  Dunbar,  they  lack  the  first  requisite  of 
Christianity,  themselves, —  charity!  " 

"  Daughter,  will  you  listen  to  me?  I  want  to  tell 
you  some  things  I've  heard  of  your  father,  to-day." 

Very  quietly  he  repeated  to  her  the  expressions  that 
had  come  to  him  from  various  quarters,  he  told  her 
several  little  stories  of  things  he  knew  himself,  of 
how,  so  long  as  he  had  had  means,  her  father's  hand 
had  gone  down  joyfully  into  his  pocket  for  all  who  had 
asked,  how  more  than  once  he  had  gone  to  men  in 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  63 

trouble,  and  in  disgrace,  and  had  helped  and  cheered 
them. 

Lydia's  eyes  never  for  an  instant  had  left  his  face. 
It  was  what  she  had  hungered  for  —  to  hear  from 
others  this  unqualified  praise  of  her  father.  And  sud- 
denly she  was  shaking  convulsively  —  not  a  sound,  but 
her  whole  body  shuddering  with  sobs  that  struggled  for 
outlet. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  by  her  bedside,  neither  of 
them  speaking.  Her  breathing  grew  deep  and  regu- 
lar; but  she  was  not  asleep  .  .  .  She  became  conscious 
that  he  was  softly  leaving  the  room. 

She  called  him,  and  his  hand  on  the  door-knob,  he 
turned  back  to  her. 

"  I  thought  you  had  fallen  asleep,  Lydia.  I  hoped 
so.  You  need  sleep." 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Dr.  Dunbar,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  not  saying 
to  me  that  I  ought  to  be  glad  —  glad  because  my  fa- 
ther is  'better  off'  now!" 

There  was  a  faint  suggestion  of  irony  in  her  voice. 
"  That's  what  the  Pooles  said  to  me,  and  the  doctor, 
and  the  others,  but  you  didn't  say  it!  " 

"  No,  daughter." 

Evidently  Dr.  Dunbar  rated  the  power  of  words  to 
convey  comfort,  at  such  a  time,  and  to  such  a  young  per- 
son, not  over-high.  "  No,  daughter."  He  said  noth- 
ing else. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he's  better  off,  or  not,  Dr. 
Dunbar!"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "Nobody 
does !  It's  unknown !  And  it's  unknowable !  " 


64  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Dr.  Dunbar  mutely  stroked  her  hand. 

She  lifted  herself  so  that  she  could  see  him  better; 
she  wanted  the  companionship  of  his  face ;  but  she  could 
scarcely  distinguish  the  dim  old  eyes  that  her  own  wist- 
fully glowing  eyes  looked  up  to. 

"  There  are  some  words  —  from  a  poem  —  that 
keep  going  over  and  over  in  my  head!  I  can't  get 
away  from  them !  They  —  they're  terrible  to  me  — 
now!" 

"  What  are  the  words,  daughter?  f' 

She  hesitated.  She  knew  that  he  had  opposed  the 
catholic  range  of  reading  her  father  had  allowed 
her.  .  .  .  And  these  words  were  from  one  of  the  books 
he  had  thought  she  should  not  read. 

"  Tell  me  what  troubles  you,  daughter  —  what  the 
words  are,  you  spoke  of." 

"  '  No  map  there,  nor  guide,'  "  she  repeated. 

"  '  Nor  voice  sounding,  nor  touch  of  human  hand, 
Nor  face  with  blooming  flesh,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes, 
Are  in  that  land.'  " 

She  gripped  the  old  hand  that  held  hers.  It  flashed 
through  her  that  her  reason  was  leaving  her!  Her 
voice  sounded  out  in  terror  in  the  twilight  room. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Dunbar,  my  poor  father!  " 

All  philosophy,  all  rational  theories  of  death  what- 
soever, had  deserted  her.  In  a  crushing  agony  of 
doubt  and  fear,  her  thoughts  reached  out  and  tried  to 
follow  her  father  into  that  awful  region  where  his  soul 
was  voyaging  now,  into  that  unknown  and  unknowable 
region ! 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  65 

ii 

"  There  are  other  words,  Lydia,  in  that  book." 
There  was  a  frosty  touch  in  Dr.  Dunbar's  voice. 
"  I'm  going  to  repeat  to  you  the  words  that  follow 
those  you've  repeated,  and  I  want  you  to  dwell  on 
them,  and  to  put  the  others  out  of  your  mind."  He  re- 
peated slowly  and  impressively: 

11  *  My  rendezvous  is  appointed,  it  is  certain, 
The  Lord  will  be  there  and  wait  till  I  come  on 

perfect  terms. 
The  great  Camerado,  the  lover  true  for  whom  I 

pine,  will 
Be  there '  " 

All  at  once,  a  feeling  altogether  different  from  any 
she  had  ever  known  before  came  over  her.  Dr.  Dun- 
bar,  nearing  that  "  rendezvous  " —  what  faith  he  had ! 
What  trust  in  his  old  voice ! 

Something  in  her  heart  seemed  to  melt,  gently;  and 
a  light,  wan,  like  moonlight  —  but  better  than  the  black- 
ness that  had  been  —  penetrated  the  mists  in  which 
her  restive  and  tormented  soul  was  groping. 

She  dropped  her  face  on  the  old  minister's  hand; 
no  sobs  came  to  rend  her;  but  she  began  to  cry  softly. 

Ill 

After  a  time  she  fell  asleep,  dreamily  conscious  of 
Dr.  Dunbar  still  sitting  by  her  side.  She  could  not 
remember,  afterwards,  when  he  had  left  the  room,  but 


66 

she  woke  some  time  in  the  night,  and  found  that  a 
blanket  had  been  placed  over  her.  The  fire  was  out, 
the  room  perfectly  black.  She  felt  Mrs.  Poole  in  bed 
beside  her. 

It  had  been  her  first  deep  sleep  for  several  days,  and 
she  woke  bewildered.  For  a  moment  she  was  so 
dazed  she  could  hardly  realise  all  that  had  been  hap- 
pening;—  then,  sharply,  everything  came  back  to  her, 
and  her  heart  began  pounding  against  her  side. 

The  house  was  so  still,  Mrs.  Poole  asleep,  and  her 
father's  dead  body  so  near  her!  A  strange  terror 
came  over  her !  She  had  never  before  been  near  death. 

It  was  about  midnight  she  supposed.  The  repulsive 
word  that  vulgar  and  ignorant  people  use  came  into 
her  mind  —  corpse!  And  an  awful  fear  of  the  dead 
body  in  the  next  room  crept  over  her ! 

She  felt  paralysed !  It  was  like  a  nightmare  —  she 
tried  to  move,  and  could  not!  A  huge  hand  seemed 
bearing  down  on  her  lungs,  forbidding  her  to  breathe ! 
That  stiffened  body,  out  of  which  the  life  had  gone,  so 
near  to  her!  And  she  was  alone  with  it !  Mrs.  Poole 
was  asleep!  She  thought  she  must  wake  her!  She 
hoped  there  were  others  in  the  house  —  she  must 
rouse  them  too!  She  could  not  be  alone,  with  that 
dead  body  so  near  her! 

IV 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  her  fear,  a  little  picture 
took  form  in  her  mind  —  coming  to  her  from,  oh,  so 
far  back  In  the  dim  shadow-land  of  her  memory  that 
she  wondered,  afterwards,  how  it  ever  could  have 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  67 

found  its  way  back  to  her  that  night:  a  small  figure, 
herself,  she  saw,  a  big  figure,  her  father,  in  a  woods 
together,  leaves  falling  —  it  must  have  been  autumn. 
They  were  by  a  little  stream,  and  her  father  had 
stooped  down  by  the  water's  edge,  hollowed  his  hand, 
and  filled  it  with  water,  and  she  drank  from  his  hand, 
with  delight  at  that  wondrous  drinking-cup  which  he 
had  made  for  her,  her  wonderful  father!  Back  it 
came  to  her,  through  the  mist  of  years,  even  the  pale 
sunlight  sifting  through  the  branches  of  the  trees  upon 
the  big  figure  kneeling  there,  and  the  little  figure  drink- 
ing from  his  hand! 


She  sprang  from  bed,  and  ran  through  the  sitting 
room  into  her  father's  room  where  his  body  lay  on  its 
improvised  bier.  There  was  no  light  in  the  room,  ex- 
cept such  as  came  from  the  sitting  room  through  the 
open  door. 

A  singular  and  unforgettable  odour  permeated  the 
room.  She  knew  nothing  of  such  things,  and  did  not 
recognise  it  as  the  odour  of  a  fluid  that  had  been  used 
about  the  body;  she  was  horrified,  but  she  approached 
the  bier  swiftly  and  without  hesitation.  She  drew  off 
the  sheet  that  had  been  drawn  over  the  body,  stooped 
and  touched  her  lips  to  her  father's  icy  forehead.  She 
placed  her  hands  on  his  folded  hands.  Then  she  knelt 
on  the  floor,  and  stroked  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  She 
began  talking  to  him  in  low  tones,  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Father,  how  could  I  have  been  afraid  of  you? 


68  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

You  would  never  have  been  afraid  of  my  body!     For- 
give me!     Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  you  now!  " 

VI 

She  heard  steps  behind  her,  and  turned  toward  their 
sound.  Two  men  were  coming  into  the  room.  They 
were  neighbours,  she  saw;  she  knew  them  only  slightly; 
one  was  a  man  who  lived  next  door;  his  boots  creaked. 

The  men  had  both  been  eating.  Even  in  the  dim 
light  she  could  see  that  one  of  them  was  wiping  crumbs 
from  his  lips;  the  other,  the  man  who  lived  next  door, 
was  making  a  little  revolting  clicking  sound  with  his 
tongue  and  teeth.  She  remembered  vaguely  that 
there  was  some  custom  of  providing  food  for  those 
who  "  sat  up  "  with  the  dead.  But  she  felt  offended. 
She  thought  it  gross,  and  disrespectful  to  her  father, 
that  men  filling  the  office  these  men  were  filling  should 
desire  to  eat. 

"  Honey,  you  don't  want  to  be  here,  do  you?  "  one 
of  them  said,  stooping  over  her. 

"Let  me  stay!  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lydia,  I  wouldn't  stay  here !  " 

The  man  seemed  at  loss  to  know  what  further  he 
should  say  to  her.  He  retreated  a  little,  but  came 
back  after  a  moment. 

"  I  reckon  Mistress  Poole's  awake,"  he  said  hesi- 
tatingly. "  I'd  better  get  her  to  come  in  here  with 
you,  if  you  feel  like  you  want  to  stay  here,  Miss  Lydia." 

"  Oh,  no,  don't  call  her  .  .  .  and  let  me  stay!  It's 
the  last  time  I  can  ever  be  with  him !  "  she  said  in  a 
quivering  voice.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  69 

One  of  the  men,  and  then  the  other,  blew  his  nose 
vigorously. 

They  brought  an  armchair  from  the  sitting  room, 
placed  it  close  to  the  spot  where  she  was  kneeling,  and 
in  the  dim  room  she  kept  her  vigil  till  daylight. 


CHAPTER  VII 


IT  had  not  occurred  to  Lydia  to  inquire  where  her 
father  was  to  be  buried.  Looking  dully  out  of 
the  carriage  window,  she  saw  that  the  funeral  pro- 
cession was  winding  its  way  through  a  street  skirting 
the  unhallowed  but  picturesque  negro  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  proceeding  toward  the  country  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  New  Cemetery. 

For  generations,  representative  families  of  Kings- 
ville  had  buried  their  dead  in  the  Old  Cemetery.  Eng- 
lish ivy  clambered  over  the  trunks  of  its  ancient  trees, 
there  was  a  great  central  fountain,  and  clumps  of  holly 
stood  stiffly  guard  by  its  old  brick  burial-vaults.  The 
Dead  must  linger  long  in  one  spot,  as  must  the  Living, 
to  weave  the  veil  of  enchantment  over  their  abode,  and 
the  New  Cemetery  had  to  show  as  yet  only  a  sparse 
scattering  of  shafts  on  a  treeless  hillside  beyond  the 
town's  limits. 

She  had  been  in  a  sort  of  trance  from  the  moment 
Mr.  Poole  had  helped  her  into  the  carriage;  but  now 
she  was  stung  into  painful  half-life  by  the  realisation 
that  her  father  was  being  taken  for  burial  to  this  bare 
and  hideous  New  Cemetery.  Burial  space  in  the  Old 
Cemetery  had  been  too  expensive  for  her  to  buy  —  or 
so  Mr.  Poole  had  decided !  .  .  .  She  kept  her  eyes  on 

70 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  71 

her  lap.  She  was  utterly  helpless  in  the  matter,  and 
she  knew  it,  but  she  wondered,  with  her  heart  full  of 
bitter  tears,  why  she  might  not  have  had  a  few  feet  of 
the  beautiful  Old  Cemetery  in  which  to  lay  her  father's 
body. 

II 

She  seemed  still  to  get  the  odour  of  the  flowers  — 
the  deathly  sweet  of  heliotrope  and  of  tuberose. 

"  I'm  sure  it'll  be  a  comfort  to  you,  Lydia,  to  see 
how  many  have  sent  flowers!  "  Mrs.  Poole  had  whis- 
pered, as  she  led  her  into  the  sitting  room  where  the 
casket  had  been  placed. 

She  remembered  now,  in  what  seemed  to  her  this 
endless  journey  to  the  Cemetery, —  and  she  remem- 
bered it  dreamily,  as  something  of  years  before  —  that 
there  had  been  a  wreath  of  white  rose-buds,  twined  with 
smilax,  on  the  glass  lid  of  the  casket,  and  that  on  the 
card  tied  to  the  wreath  had  been  scrawled,  With  Sym- 
pathy, above  an  engraved  name,  Mrs.  Ransom  Craig- 
head  Churchwell.  She  remembered  Mrs.  Poole's  mur- 
muring something  about  the  wreath  having  been  the 
prettiest  piece,  she  had  thought,  and  so  she  had  put  it 
there.;  and  she  recalled  her  own  removal  of  the  wreath, 
and  her  placing  it  on  the  seat  of  one  of  the  camp-chairs 
she  had  seen  stationed  in  dreadful  preparedness  about 
the  room. 

It  had  made  her  think  of  Mr.  Churchwell,  this 
wreath  sent  by  his  wife,  and  a  vagrant  thought  of  him 
ran  through  her  mind  again  in  this  silent  drive  to  the 
Cemetery.  She  had  been  puzzled,  at  first,  and  inevit- 


72  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ably  hurt,  when  he  had  not  called,  but  his  wife's  send- 
ing the  wreath  confirmed  an  explanation  she  had  al- 
ready made  to  herself  —  that  he  was  absent  from 
town,  and  did  not  yet  know  of  her  father's  death. 

Ill 

Mrs.  Poole  had  said,  as  they  stood  together  look- 
ing down  at  the  face  under  the  glass  lid,  "  How  nice 
he  looks,  doesn't  he?" 

She,  herself,  had  noticed  how  plain  and  irregular 
her  father's  face  was,  not  comely  even  with  the  dig- 
nity conferred  on  it  by  death.  Oddly  enough,  she  had 
particularly  noticed  something  about  this  waxy  yellow- 
ish cast  of  his  face  in  death,  she  had  hardly  remarked 
of  it  in  life  —  that  his  nose  was  slightly  crooked,  quite 
perceptibly  twisted  to  one  side,  and  with  this  observa- 
tion, his  face  had  become  to  her  by  very  virtue  of  its 
new-found  defect  more  infinitely  precious  than  ever 
before. 

Mrs.  Poole  had  cried  all  of  the  time  they  had  stood 
there  together;  had  kept  dabbing  her  eyes  and  nose, 
sniffling  and  sobbing  audibly.  And  Lydia  had  been 
without  sound  or  tear.  But  as  she  had  looked  down 
for  the  last  time  on  her  father's  face,  something  had 
seemed  to  close  vise-like  about  her  heart. 

The  gripping  pain  was  still  at  her  heart,  as  they 
drove  through  the  gate  of  the  New  Cemetery.  She 
could  not  imagine  that  a  time  would  ever  come  when 
it  would  cease. 

Mr.  Poole  helped  her  from  the  carriage,  and  she 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  73 

alighted  trance-like,  as  she  had  entered  it  trance-like 
from  the  gate  of  the  cottage. 

It  was  one  of  those  still,  sad-coloured  days  of  winter, 
in  which  there  is  no  sun,  no  wind  —  only  a  great  joy- 
less wash  of  grey  air.  Lydia  savoured  its  qualities  to 
the  utmost.  It  seemed  to  her  sinisterly  appropriate 
as  a  day  of  burial  —  the  whole  world  hushed,  listen- 
ing, as  if  prescient  with  awful  fears! 

"  Out  of  one  of  these  still,  terrible  days,  the  End  of 
the  World  will  come  smashing !  "  she  had  said  to  her 
father  once,  half  in  fun,  half  in  fright,  and  she  remem- 
bered it  now,  as  she  stood  by  his  fresh-dug  grave. 

She  stood  up  very  straight  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Poole.  Her  slight  figure,  clad  in  the  new  brown  suit, 
did  not  sway  once.  She  did  not  lean  on  Mrs.  Poole, 
or  allow  Mr.  Poole  to  support  her.  Her  eyes,  staring 
from  her  unveiled,  ghostly  white  face,  had  a  look  of 
strange  preoccupation,  as  if  looking,  she  saw  nothing; 
but  in  reality  she  saw  much.  She  saw  the  red  clay 
mounds  of  other  new-made  graves  here  and  there  on 
the  hillside,  heard  the  cawing  of  distant  crows,  noticed 
how  erect,  despite  his  years,  old  Dr.  Dunbar  still  stood 
—  like  the  old  soldier  he  was.  .  .  . 

She  heard  him  saying  something  about  soldiers,  and 
about  battles  he  had  been  through  in  the  War,  and 
she  heard  him  say,  in  a  moved  voice  — "  Here,  too, 
was  a  soldier.  He  fought  battles  —  battles  for  what 
he  esteemed  the  truth  .  .  .  and  I  dare  affirm  he  took 
his  wounds,  and  bore  them,  valiantly  —  more  and 
greater  wounds,  perhaps,  than  some  of  us  knew  1  " 


74  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

For  an  instant,  after  she  heard  these  words,  things 
went  swimming  before  her  eyes,  and  she  feared  she 
might  not  be  able  to  stand  longer,  but  then  she  steadied 
herself,  and  looked  again  unflinchingly  into  the  faces 
of  those  who  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  waiting 
hole  in  the  red  earth. 

IV 

The  first  small  clods  dropped  on  her  father's  lowered 
coffin  —  the  immemorial  dust  to  dust.  As  the  sound, 
not  loud,  but  distinct,  reached  her  ears,  there  unfolded 
before  her  a  sudden  gloomy  and  distorted  vision  of 
her  future  existence,  stretching  ahead  of  her,  long, 
listless,  purely  mechanical,  deprived  of  all  vital  urge. 
Even  sorrow,  she  believed,  after  this,  could  touch  her 
no  further.  Myopic  with  present  grief,  she  could  not 
see  where  joys  were  waiting  for  her  —  those  minute, 
ceaseless  joys  that  reconcile  the  heart  to  its  certain 
miseries. 

She  wondered,  vaguely,  why  it  was  given  to  her  to 
know,  so  young,  so  much  of  life.  She  did  not  dream 
how  pitifully  little  of  life  she  knew,  as  yet!  With  all 
her  arrogant  young  belief  in  her  own  powers  of  judg- 
ment and  foreknowledge,  she  did  not  recognise  this  a 
moment  of  destiny  —  these  harsh  clay  clods  rattling 
down  upon  her  father's  coffin !  She  thought  it  prac- 
tically the  end  of  things  for  her  —  did  not  fathom  it 
at  all  merely  the  beginning  of  events  that  would  reach 
to  her  grandchildren,  and  yet  to  theirs,  and  so  on  in 
endless  chain  of  consequence  —  with  such  immeasur- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  75 

able  complexity  are  woven  the  threads  of  human  exist- 
ence. For  her  ardent,  fledgling  spirit  was  but  entering 
on  the  earthly  adventures  her  father's  spirit  had  fin- 
ished. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A  MONTH  had  passed.  Already  the  early  South- 
ern spring  was  beginning  to  show  itself  —  blue 
crocuses  twinkled  in  the  grass,  jonquils  were  budded, 
and  birds  were  busy. 

The  little  cottage  had  been  dismantled;  the  furni- 
ture sold;  and  the  books,  with  a  few  other  things, 
packed  in  boxes  and  stored  in  the  Pooles'  attic. 

Lydia,  with  a  sewing-basket  in  her  lap,  and  Mrs. 
Poole  with  a  "  fancy-work  "  bag  in  hers,  sat  in  the 
Pooles'  sitting  room.  The  afternoon  was  waning,  and 
Mrs.  Poole  had  the  place  by  the  west  window,  to  catch 
the  last  light  for  her  work  of  embroidering  red  cher- 
ries on  a  "centrepiece  "  of  white  linen. 

Lydia  was  threading  ribbon  through  the  embroidery 
of  a  nightgown  she  had  recently  made  with  Mrs. 
Poole's  assistance.  She  was  feeling  quite  happy,  at 
this  moment,  with  her  very  feminine  occupation.  She 
had,  in  truth,  been  dimly  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  gen- 
eral security  and  well-being  ever  since  she  had  entered 
the  Pooles'  home. 

Occasionally  Mr.  Poole  would  dart  into  the  room, 
to  disappear  as  quickly,  in  pursuit  of  one  of  the  busy- 
idle,  finicking  activities  with  which  he  filled  his  hours 

76 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  77 

since  he  had  sold  his  store  on  the  Market  Square,  and 
retired  from  the  most  dependable  grocery  business  ever 
conducted  in  the  town. 

From  time  to  time  Lydia  would  exchange  a  remark 
with  Mrs.  Poole,  or  look  up  from  her  ribbon  thread- 
ing and  let  her  eyes  wander  contentedly  about  the  fa- 
miliar room.  It  was  not  a  luxurious  room;  it  was 
certainly  not  artistic,  with  its  profusion  of  meaning- 
less ornament,  and  its  stiff  Nottingham  curtains  hang- 
ing at  every  window,  in  their  own  and  their  owners' 
blissful  ignorance  of  the  existence  and  gospel  of  an 
Englishman  named  William  Morris.  But  it  was  a 
very  comfortable  room  for  all  that,  a  room  that  car- 
ried Lydia  back  to  the  happiest  memories  of  her  child- 
hood —  all  those  treasures  on  the  walnut  what-not,  the 
stereoscope  with  its  basket  of  views,  the  shells  which 
had  brought  the  mysterious  roar  of  the  sea  to  her  en- 
chanted ears,  the  starfish,  the  kaleidoscope,  which  shift 
by  shift  had  wrought  for  her  eyes  such  wonders  with 
its  little  glittering  particles  of  coloured  glass. 

II 

The  permanent  disposition  of  her  future  was  a  sub- 
ject that  had  not  been  openly  broached  by  the  Pooles, 
but  their  hints  —  which  at  first  had  hurt  her  —  had 
shown  that  it  was  a  subject  occupying  their  thoughts 
hardly  less  than  her  own. 

Unknown  to  them,  she  had  already  taken  steps  that 
committed  her  to  a  future  course  —  a  career,  she  hoped ; 
and  it  was  her  knowledge  that  the  day  was  drawing 
near  when  she  must  disclose  her  plans,  and  that  the 


78  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Pooles  would  be  justly  reproachful  that  she  had  not 
taken  them  into  her  confidence  from  the  beginning,  and 
moreover  that  the  carrying  out  of  these  plans  would 
take  her  a  long  way  from  Kingsville,  and  perhaps  for 
a  long  time,  which  made  her  very  gentle  to  them  now, 
very  tractable,  and  very  sweet. 

"  Lydia,  push  your  hair  back  from  your  forehead ! 
Fasten  it  up !  " 

Lydia  smiled  indulgently.  She  was  resolved  not  to 
allow  herself  to  be  irritated  by  any  of  Mrs.  Poole's 
little  ways.  A  dozen  times  a  day  Mrs.  Poole  would 
say,  "  Take  your  hair  out  of  your  eyes,  Lydia !  " — 
when  she  herself  had  not  been  conscious  of  its  being 
in  her  eyes.  She  said  to  herself  now,  "  Well,  I'll  soon 
be  gone !  " —  and  tucked  up  the  offending  locks  and 
fastened  them  with  a  hairpin. 

"There,  that's  better!  " 

Mrs.  Poole  looked  out  of  the  window  for  a  moment 
with  a  preoccupied  air.  Then  she  gathered  up  her 
work  in  the  diminutive  apron  she  wore,  and  crossed 
the  room  to  consult  the  clock. 

"  Later  than  I  thought !  "  she  said  a  little  absently. 

She  was  carefully  extracting  a  thread  from  a  small 
skein  of  embroidery-floss  when  the  doorbell  jangled. 
She  started  slightly  at  the  sound,  and  drew  a  deep 
audible  breath  of  mingled  anxiety  and  relief. 

It  was  Dr.  Dunbar. 

in 

"  So  it's  true  Miss  Tillie  Tallman's  going  to  marry, 
is  it,  Dr.  Dunbar?"  she  inquired. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  79 

"  Yes,  the  twentieth  of  June  is  set."  The  old 
clergyman  rested  his  hands  forward  on  the  head  of  his 
cane.  "  The  schools  will  lose  a  good  teacher." 

"  That'll  make  a  vacancy  in  the  schools,"  remarked 
Mr.  Poole. 

"  Now  isn't  it  silly  of  them,"  said  Lydia  to  herself, 
"  to  go  about  it  in  this  roundabout  way!  Why  don't 
they  just  come  out  and  say  that  they  think  I  ought  to 
try  to  get  a  position  to  teach?  " 

Mr.  Poole  glanced  at  her  with  a  sly  smile. 

"  Might  be  a  chance  for  you  there,  Lydia !  "  he 
suggested. 

Mrs.  Poole  looked  properly  surprised,  but  on  the 
whole  pleased,  with  her  husband's  suggestion.  Lydia, 
who  sat  in  a  big  plush  chair  playing  with  the  fringe  on 
its  cushioned  arm,  smiled. 

There  was  a  short  silence  in  the  room.  It  was 
rather  a  tense  silence. 

"  Had  you  thought  of  a  position  in  the  schools, 
Lydia?  "  Dr.  Dunbar  asked  gently. 

"  Not  much,"  she  replied  evasively. 

Mr.  Poole  lightly  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Oh,  I  think  no  kind  of  position  could  be  nicer  for 
you,  Lydia,"  he  began,  enthusiastically. 

His  wife  interrupted  him. 

"  It's  not  that  we're  in  a  hurry  for  you  to  get  a  po- 
sition, you  know  that,  Lydia  .  .  ." 

Lydia  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  after  all!  There 
had  been  times  in  this  month  she  had  spent  at  the 
Pooles'  when  she  had  inferred  quite  the  contrary !  But 
there  was  no  room  in  her  present  mind  for  resentment. 


8o 

It  was  filled  with  interesting,  even  romantic,  pictures 
of  a  future  she  was  about  to  enter.  And  she  was  ex- 
cited, and  a  little  frightened,  with  the  thought  that  in 
a  moment  more  she  would  spring  her  surprise.  Her 
cheeks  were  delicately  flushed,  her  eyes  were  shining. 

Confidence  was  expressed  in  her  ability  to  pass  the 
examinations  required  for  a  teacher's  certificate. 

Dr.  Dunbar  would  see  two  members  of  the  board 
of  education  for  her,  Mr.  Poole,  a  third. 

Lydia  was  relishing  the  moment,  but  not  without 
qualms.  Every  other  instant  she  said  to  herself,  "  I'll 
tell  them  now !  "  But  just  as  she  had,  at  last,  gathered 
courage  sufficient  to  make  her  announcement,  Dr.  Dun- 
bar  broke  in  on  her  resolution  with  words  addressed 
pointedly  to  her. 

"  There's  one  thing,  Lydia,  that  might  work  against 
you  with  the  board." 

"  You  mean  my  not  belonging  to  any  church?  "  she 
asked  quickly. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that,"  he  answered,  rather  dryly. 

She  glanced  at  Mr.  Poole  where  he  sat  with  his  chair 
tipped  toward  the  centre  table.  He  was  artfully,  and 
with  the  minute  particularity  of  attention  one  might 
give  to  a  new  possession,  examining  a  paper-knife, 
though  she  could  not  remember  a  time  when  this  iden- 
tical celluloid  paper-knife  had  not  been  on  the  Pooles' 
centre  table.  How  unconcerned  he  looked  —  and 
Mrs.  Poole,  shading  a  cherry! 

"  If  you  join  the  Church,  Lydia,  it'll  be  the  means, 
I  don't  doubt,  of  getting  you  this  nice,  lady-like  posi- 


8i 

tion  we'd  all  be  so  proud  to  see  you  in,"  Mrs.  Poole 
purred. 

u  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  you  neglect  what's  so  plainly 
to  your  interest,  Lydia,"  added  Mr.  Poole,  but  Lydia 
remained  with  her  eyes  downcast.  "  This  good  open- 
ing for  you  now  in  the  schools." 

"  Opening!     Opening  to  what?  "  thought  Lydia. 

Visions  shot  through  her  of  the  dowdy,  underpaid, 
tired-faced  school-mistresses  of  Kingsville ! 

IV 

'  There's  nothing  in  the  world  I'd  hate  so  much  as 
teaching  school!  "  She  bit  out  the  words  audaciously, 
with  wicked  joy. 

She  felt  the  room  suddenly  electrified: 

Mr.  Poole  recovered  himself  first. 

"  I  don't  think,  Lydia,  a  person  can  let  their  likes 
and  dislikes  govern  them  when  it  comes  to  the  matter 
of  earning  a  living!  " 

She  met  his  eyes  unflinchingly. 

"  Well,  teaching's  one  thing  I  won't  consider,  Mr. 
Poole." 

''What  do  you  expect  to  do,  Lydia?"  he  inquired 
in  a  challenging  tone,  after  a  short  and  terrible  pause. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  a  general  agent  for  a  publishing 
company,  and  travel."  Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"  Travel!  "  Mrs  Poole  bounced,  the  "  fancy-work- 
bag  "  slipping  from  her  lap.  She  turned  upon  Lydia, 
her  face  suddenly  almost  purple. 

"  You've  said  nothing  —  nothing  —  to  us,  about  this, 


82  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia,"  objected  Mr.  Poole.  "What  is  this  thing  — 
agent  —  you're  speaking  of?" 

"  The  man  was  here  last  week,"  Lydia  explained, 
"  representing  the  company.  I  saw  the  advertisement 
in  the  paper,  and  went  to  see  him,  and  signed  a  con- 
tract. I'm  to  travel,  and  appoint  agents  to  sell  their 
works.  ..." 

"  Is  it  a  book-agent  you're  thinking  of  being, 
Lydia?"  asked  Mrs.  Poole  abruptly,  and  with  undis- 
guised scorn. 

Lydia  answered  quickly  that  it  was  not. 

How  insupportable  for  Mrs.  Poole  to  have  asked 
the  one  question  she  had  dreaded  might  be  asked! 
"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  it'll  very  likely  get  around 
Kingsville  that  I'm  going  to  be  an  ordinary  book- 
agent  I  "  She  set  about  trying  to  illuminate  for  the 
Pooles  the  character  of  a  general  agency. 

"  All  I'll  have  to  do  is  to  go  to  different  towns  and 
find  people  who  want  to  become  agents,  and  employ 
them.  I  don't  sell  any  books  myself.  Each  person 
I  employ  pays  me  five  dollars,  for  the  privilege  of  be- 
coming an  agent  —  and  that's  my  commission.  You 
see  how  much  I'll  make  if  I  get  several  agents,  a  day." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  there's  any  use  in  trying  to 
get  you  to  give  up  this  thing,  Lydia,  now  you've  made 
up  your  mind.  .  .  ."  Mr.  Poole  shook  his  head  du- 
biously. 

Dr.  Dunbar  spoke  at  last,  anxiously,  and  almost  to 
himself:  "The  travelling  .  .  .  the  travelling  .  .  . 
I  feel  you're  too  —  young,  for  such  a  position." 

The  travelling  I     Why,  the  travelling,  that  was  what 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  83 

she  wanted!  What  but  the  travelling  had  made  her 
consider  the  general  agency? 

And  what,  otherwise, —  the  despised  teaching  elimi- 
nated—  could  she  have  done? 

Man  —  regarded,  she  knew,  as  the  one  desirable 
economic  solution  for  woman  —  she  previsioned  with 
certainty  —  as  yet  a  vague,  but  wholly  glorious  figure 
in  her  own  future.  But  till  he  arrived? 

Clerk?  Measure  off  two  yards  of  ribbon  for  Mrs. 
Ransom  Churchwell,  and  say  "  Thank  you  "  for  the 
coins  Mrs.  Churchwell's  gloved  hand  dropped  into 
hers?  Not  she! 

She  was  suddenly  conscious  that  Mrs.  Poole,  her 
work  laid  aside,  was  weeping. 

Mr.  Poole  glanced  solicitously  at  his  wife,  then  at 
Lydia,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  There,  now  you  see  what 
you've  done,  young  lady!  '' 

Outright,  he  said,  in  a  sorely  aggrieved  tone,  "  I 
hardly  thought,  Lydia,  I  hardly  thought  you'd  go  ahead 
and  make  all  these  plans  and  say  nothing  to  us,  when 
we're  so  interested  in  everything  that  concerns  you !  " 

Lydia  sprang  from  her  chair  and  placed  her  hand 
impulsively  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Poole,  I  never,  never,  can  thank  you  and  Mrs. 
Poole  enough  for  all  you've  done  for  me,  but  I  just 
couldn't  do  the  things  here  in  Kingsville  I  knew  you'd 
want  me  to  do.  .  .  ."  She  stopped,  her  words  chok- 
ing her. 

"  Well,  when  —  when'll  you  have  to  start,  Lydia?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Poole,  with  tears  in  her  voice,  but  resign- 
edly. 


CHAPTER  IX 


IT  was  the  day  before  Lydia  was  to  leave.  Mrs. 
Poole,  who  had  just  returned  from  market,  had 
called  her  down  to  the  kitchen,  a  dark  room  with 
grease-spattered  walls,  over  which  roaches  scampered 
by  day  as  well  as  by  night  —  not  a  room  to  put  heart 
in  a  squeamish  stomach,  but  one  out  of  which  came 
much  and  excellent  cookery  notwithstanding. 

"  Some  little  things  for  your  lunch,  to-morrow," 
she  said,  separating  some  packages  from  her  other 
marketing,  and  handing  them  to  an  old  shuffling  black 
woman.  "  But  here  —  I  knew  you'd  want  to  go  to 
the  cemetery,  Lydia  —  being  your  last  day."  She 
lifted  out  of  her  market  basket  a  bunch  of  purple  and 
white  immortelles,  and  two  wreaths  of  evergreen,  aro- 
matic leaves,  known  in  Kingsville  as  "  heart-leaves." 

"  Mrs.  Poole,  I  wish  you  hadn't  got  them,"  began 
Lydia,  gently.  "  It  was  nice  of  you  .  .  .  but  I  don't 
want  to  go." 

Mrs.  Poole  darted  a  glance  at  her.  "  You  haven't 
been  once !  " 

"  But  I'd  rather  not  go."  She  stopped,  noticing 
that  the  alarming  phenomenon  of  Mrs.  Poole's  nose 
was  recurring. 

'  You've  a  mighty  queer  way,  Lydia,  I  must  say,  of 
showing  you  mourn  your  father !  " 

84 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  85 

"  But  I  don't  think  of  him  out  in  the  cemetery,  Mrs. 
Poole.  And  I  don't  want  to." 

To  her  amazement,  Mrs.  Poole  turned,  and  left  her 
staring  rather  dazed  at  all  the  marketing  set  out  on 
the  table  beside  her  —  the  wreaths  and  the  dry,  stiff 
immortelles  among  the  eggs  and  butter  and  dressed 
chickens  and  spare-ribs  and  bunches  of  vegetables. 

She  turned  and  walked  slowly  out  of  the  kitchen, 
returning  to  the  bedroom,  where  she  had  been  packing 
her  trunk.  Mrs.  Poole  was  very  angry!  It  was  too 
bad  this  little  clash  had  had  to  come  on  the  last  day! 

II 

But  it  was  true  she  no  longer  thought  of  her  father 
as  in  the  cemetery. 

In  the  first  week  after  his  death,  when  it  had  stormed 
at  night,  it  had  seemed  to  her  she  could  not  bear  it  — 
his  poor  body,  alone,  in  the  darkness  and  rain!  She 
could  .see  him  in  his  coffin,  and  she  thought  that  image 
would  never  leave  her.  But  she  was  young  and 
healthy,  and  soon  it  ceased  to  haunt  her. 

Already  he  was  coming  back  to  her  strong  and  com- 
panionable, the  father  of  her  earlier  memories. 

She  had  come,  too,  to  feel  that,  wherever  he  was,  all 
was  well  with  him. 

And  wherever  he  was,  he  was  not  accusing  her  of  any 
unfaithfulness  to  his  memory.  He  understood! 

He  understood  everything.  .  .  .  He  would  even 
understand,  if  he  knew  of  it,  why,  four  or  five  hours 
after  that  painful  moment  with  Mrs.  Poole  in  the 
kitchen,  she  should  be  standing  in  front  of  a  mirror  in 


86  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

the  Pooles'  "  spareroom,"  viewing  herself  in  a  new 
hat  —  one  she  had  selected  somewhat  against  Mrs. 
Poole's  judgment  in  the  matter  of  a  hat  suitable  for  a 
general  agent. 

Ill 

She  fastened  her  gloves,  looked  a  last  time  in  the 
mirror,  and  then  slipped  stealthily  down  the  stairs  and 
out  of  the  house.  A  delightful  bubbling  was  going  on 
in  her  heart !  The  only  thing  that  troubled  her  to  any 
appreciable  degree  was  the  fact  that  she  had  told  an 
untruth  to  Mrs.  Poole.  She  had  told  her  she  was 
going  out  to  do  some  errands. 

But  every  step  she  took,  now,  farther  away  from 
the  Pooles,  she  felt  another  shred  of  guilt  drop  from 
her,  and  her  heart  grew  lighter  and  more  gay. 

Japonica  bushes  she  passed  were  scarlet  with  fiery 
blossoms.  A  day  more,  and  bloom  would  burst  every- 
where ! 

Her  plan  was  to  walk  several  miles  out  the  River 
Road,  and  rest  a  while,  and  then  on  her  way  back  she 
would  meet  Mr.  Churchwell  returning  home.  He 
could  not  suspect  anything,  because  she  and  her  father 
had  been  accustomed  to  taking  these  long  walks,  and 
often,  as  they  returned,  had  met  him.  She  knew  that 
in  fine  weather  he  never  allowed  his  carriage  to  be  sent 
for  him,  but  walked  home  from  his  office  in  town. 

She  did  not  know  definitely  what  she  was  expecting. 
But  it  would  be  immensely  gratifying  to  have  him  see 
her  in  these  new  and  becoming  clothes. 

She  was  not  sure  she  would  tell  him  about  the  agency. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  87 

She  would  let  him  know  she  was  going  away,  but  not 
explain  too  circumstantially. 

He  had  been  called  to  Washington  the  very  day  of 
her  father's  collapse,  and  he  had  written  her,  when  he 
learned  of  his  death.  No  one  else  had  said  things  to 
her  the  way  he  had  said  them  in  that  letter. 

He  had  told  her  something  that  had  been  a  great 
surprise  to  her,  that  explained  the  conversation  he  had 
had  with  her  father  alone  that  last  night.  It  seemed 
he  had  urged  on  her  father  the  advisability  of  a  sur- 
gical operation.  He  did  not  say  he  had  proposed  to 
arrange  for  the  expense,  but  Lydia  deduced  as  much. 

She  had  written  many  letters  in  answer  to  his,  and 
had  destroyed  them  all. 

But  now  that  he  had  returned  to  Kingsville  (as  she 
had  read  in  the  Kingsville  Courier),  she  had  schemed 
to  see  him  in  the  only  way  she  could  think  of  that 
would  allow  her  to  see  him  alone.  She  wanted  to 
thank  him.  And  then  she  wanted  his  eyes  looking 
down  into  hers,  his  strong  hand  holding  hers  an  instant ! 

IV 

She  reached  the  River  Road.  It  began  really 
within  the  town,  which  lay  along  its  broad  dividing 
river  on  the  picturesque  seven  hills,  but  did  not  assume 
its  name  till  it  passed  the  town's  limits,  and  began  to 
show  the  first  of  those  dignified  antebellum  mansions 
that  marked  it  at  intervals  for  eight  or  more  miles  into 
the  country. 

A  half  mile  beyond  the  town  was  the  Churchwell 
mansion,  built  in  the  forties.  It  stood  on  a  knoll,  its 


88  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

grounds  rolling  away  from  it  with  charming  irregulari- 
ties. Its  slave  quarters,  still  preserved,  were  visible 
from  the  road. 

Lydia  had  never  been  inside  the  house  or  even  in 
the  grounds.  As  she  came  to  them  now,  she  saw  an 
old  black  mammy  in  a  Turkey-red  gown  and  white 
kerchief  coming  down  the  winding  drive,  a  toddling 
child  by  the  hand,  another  trailing  behind. 

After  she  passed  the  Churchwell  place,  she  walked 
on  for  miles. 

Whenever  she  met  a  carriage,  she  felt  a  little  un- 
comfortable. Some  of  these  people  might  fathom  the 
reason  of  her  walk. 

She  came  to  an  old  place,  with  an  avenue  of  box, 
leading  from  the  gate  to  the  house.  She  caught  the 
acrid  odour  of  the  box  in  her  nostrils.  Previously 
she  had  not  liked  it,  but  now  it  seemed  delicious  to  her. 
The  air  was  full  of  scents.  She  sniffed  with  delight 
the  new-turned  earth. 

She  paused  at  a  lane  bordered  with  cedar  trees  — 
the  straight  cedars  like  a  double  row  of  marching  gren- 
adiers, an  escort  for  the  narrow  lane  between  them. 
Here  she  and  her  father  had  always  rested,  and  then 
turned  home.  She  looked  up  the  lane  as  they  had 
often  stood  and  looked  up  it  together. 

A  little  beyond,  she  found  a  dry  place  on  the  bank 
'by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  sat  down.  She  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  tired  she  felt.  She  sat  for  a  long 
time  on  the  bank,  dreamily  happy.  She  could  fancy 
strong  arms  cradling  her  weariness  here  in  the  spring 
sunshine. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  89 

There  were  no  houses  near  in  any  direction.  It  was 
wonderfully  still,  but  she  imagined  that  inside  this 
sunlit  silence  were  millions  of  little  chirping,  singing, 
joyful  noises. 

After  a  while,  she  crossed  the  road,  and  leaned  on 
the  fence  of  a  field  which  separated  her  from  the  river. 
She  laid  her  jacket  across  the  fence,  took  off  her  gloves, 
and  picked  patches  of  grey  lichens  idly  off  the  top  rail. 

The  island-dotted  river  wound  below  her  in  slow, 
willow-fringed  curves.  She  was  too  far  from  Kings- 
ville  now  to  see  even  its  smoke. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  river,  red  fields  stretched 
—  new-ploughed  fields  —  and  sentinel  cedars  marked 
to  her  eye  the  distant  fence  rows. 

There  was  no  haze  in  the  air.  On  the  nearest 
mountains  was  a  bloom  of  wonderful  blue,  as  of  blue 
flowers.  And  beyond  the  blue  mountains,  other  ranges 
faded  to  paler  and  paler  grey  in  the  distance,  vague 
outlines,  at  last,  merging  into  the  pearly  clouds  that 
wreathed  their  summits.  All  at  once  the  beauty  and 
wonder  of  the  world  burst  upon  her  with  an  astounding 
and  rapturous  shock.  She  was  suddenly  inebriate  with 
the  joy  just  of  living,  breathing.  And  on  the  morrow 
she  would  step  into  a  world  of  adventure  that  was 
awaiting  her  —  that  was  calling  her.  Strange  tremors 
ran  through  her  body,  nameless  longings  born  of 
spring,  of  youth. 

Ah,  life!  life! 


90  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


She  did  not  know  the  passage  of  time,  for  she  read 
the  hours  only  very  vaguely  from  the  afternoon  shad- 
ows. But  she  had  not  gone  far  on  her  homeward  way 
till  she  realised  from  the  light  that  she  had  not  started 
back  soon  enough.  Where  there  was  no  one  to  see, 
she  began  to  run.  As  it  grew  dusk,  she  became  almost 
frantic  in  her  anxiety  to  reach  the  part  of  the  road 
where  she  had  counted  on  meeting  Churchwell.  Fa- 
miliar landmarks  were  so  much  farther  apart  than  she 
had  thought.  When  she  came  at  length  to  the  top  of 
a  hill  from  which  she  could  see  Kingsville,  its  street 
lights  were  coming  out,  and  they  were  still  a  long 
way  off. 

She  ran  on  again,  her  heart  pounding.  The  fresh 
evening  breeze  blew  in  her  face.  It  seemed  to  her 
now  as  if  the  only  thing  she  wanted  in  the  world  was 
not  to  miss  this  meeting.  It  had  grown  quite  dark 
by  the  time  she  reached  the  gates  of  his  home.  Lamp- 
light glowed  from  its  windows.  In  the  sky  a  silver- 
sickle  moon  was  riding,  and  Lydia  could  see  the  street 
lights  of  Kingsville  plainly  now. 

She  walked  slowly  after  she  passed  the  Churchwell 
house.  She  was  tired  and  breathless.  If  she  should 
meet  him,  it  would  be  soon.  She  hoped  it  would  be 
on  the  bridge,  a  high  bridge  over  a  ravine,  where  sev- 
eral times  she  and  her  father  had  met  him. 

When  she  started  across  the  bridge,  she  saw  some 
one  coming  toward  her  from  the  other  end.  She  could 


tTHE  SEAS  OF  GOD  91 

make  out  only  the  bare  outlines  of  a  man's  form.     She 
grew  suddenly  faint. 

But  when  she  got  near  to  the  man,  he  peered  at  her 
hard,  and  she  saw  it  was  some  one  she  did  not  know. 

VI 

She  dragged  on  wearily.  She  began  to  think  of  the 
Pooles  —  of  how  alarmed  they  would  be,  and  the  ex- 
planation she  should  have  to  make  them. 

The  streets  were  almost  deserted.  People  were  at 
supper,  or  it  was  too  soon  after  supper  for  them  to  be 
starting  out  again. 

She  turned  off  at  a  side  street  when  she  reached 
Ransom  College,  and  came  to  the  house  where  she  had 
lived  as  a  child.  She  crept  along  by  the  fence,  holding 
to  the  pickets,  and  looked  through  the  broad-spreading 
branches  of  the  magnolia  trees  toward  the  French  win- 
dows on  the  lower  floor. 

She  kept  listening  that  no  one  should  come  upon 
her.  '  She  did  not  know  the  people  that  lived  in  the 
house  now,  but  she  could  see  a  man  reading  a  news- 
paper by  a  gas  drop-light  on  a  centre  table.  A  woman, 
his  wife,  probably,  was  laughing  and  making  gestures 
to  a  boy  and  girl  who  were  having  fun  about  some- 
thing. How  secure  they  looked! 

Suddenly  Lydia  felt  a  dread  of  leaving  Kingsville 
on  the  morrow.  She  saw  nothing  ahead  of  her,  now, 
that  she  longed  for,  or  even  wanted. 

She  was  startled  by  a  faint,  rustling  sound,  close  to 
her  —  a  cat  stealing  over  some  leaves  that  the  wind 


92  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

had  swept  into  a  little  hollow  along  the  fence.     She 
could  smell  the  leaves,  damp  and  sooty. 

She  looked  up  to  the  window  of  the  little  room  that 
had  been  hers.  There  was.  no  light  in  it.  She  remem- 
bered how  she  had  gone  back  and  kissed  its  walls,  when 
all  the  furniture  had  been  moved  out  of  the  house,  the 
rooms  bare  and  swept,  and  she  and  her  father  were 
leaving  it  forever. 

A  passion  of  tenderness  flooded  her  as  she  looked 
up  at  the  dimly  lighted  windows  that  once  had  been 
her  mother's.  She  could  see  her  lying  on  a  couch,  see 
the  rose-coloured  wrapper  she  wore,  the  lace  falling 
away  from  her  wrists.  She  could  hear  that  strange 
pretty  way  her  mother  would  call  out  to  her  when  she 
opened  the  door  —  Barker's  vigilance  for  a  moment 
asleep — "Ah,  my  adored!"  She  could  feel  herself 
gathered  to  that  soft  silken  breast! 

What  was  it  about  her  mother? 

What  was  it?  What  was  it  that  little  playmate  had 
hinted  to  her?  And  then  Mrs.  Poole? 

Why  had  her  father  gone  down  to  his  grave  with 
sealed  lips  ?  Why  did  she  know  nothing  of  his  family 
—  not  even  whether  any  of  them  were  living?  There 
were  so  many  things  she  did  not  understand.  And 
then  there  was  a  suffering  she  could  not  name,  a  new 
suffering  connected  more  or  less  consciously  with 
Churchwell. 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  her  wet  face.  "  Oh, 
Father,  I  wish  I  could  see  you  again !  "  she  sobbed, 
and  hurried  on. 

She  looked  back  once. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  93 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  she  turned  toward  the  Pooles'. 
The  little  cottage  where  she  and  her  father  had  lived 
was  dark.  There  was  a  prejudice  in  Kingsville  against 
going  into  a  house  where  some  one  had  recently  died. 


MRS.  POOLE  had  not  accompanied  Lydia  into 
the  car.  She  was  so  afraid  the  train  would 
start  before  she  could  get  off. 

Mr.  Poole  had  braved  the  perils  of  a  snorting, 
quivering,  bellringing  train,  entered  it,  and  deposited 
the  box  of  lunch  beside  her. 

"  All  aboard !  "  rang  sonorously  through  the  car 
windows. 

Mr.  Poole  gripped  her  hand. 

"  Remember,  we're  home  to  you  —  Pooles'  is  home 
to  you,  Lydia !  "  he  said  hurriedly,  his  old  voice  shak- 
ing. 

Lydia  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and  waved. 
Her  depression  of  the  night  before  had  left  her.  Her 
dread  of  what  was  ahead  had  vanished,  and  she  was 
filled  with  happy  excitement. 

The  crown  of  Mr.  Poole's  head,  satin-smooth,  ex- 
cept for  the  few  hairs  trained  across  it,  shone  in  the 
bright  morning  sun  as  he  waved  his  hat  to  her. 

She  saw  Mrs.  Poole  tell  him  to  put  his  hat  back  on 
his  head.  She  could  not  hear  her,  but  she  knew  that 
Mrs.  Poole  was  saying:  "  Edwin,  Edwin,  be  careful, 
you'll  catch  cold !  " 

Mrs.  Poole's  eyes  and  nose  were  both  red.     She  had 

94 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  95 

been  crying  softly  ever  since  they  left  the  house  for  the 
station. 

They  were  waving,  waving.  Lydia  swallowed  hard 
as  she  closed  the  window.  She  caught  a  last  glimpse 
of  Mrs.  Poole's  little  jet  bonnet  with  its  purple  pan- 
sies,  and  then  the  Pooles  vanished  from  her  eyes,  for- 
ever. 

II 

The  train  was  running  faster.  She  looked  out  on 
the  old  red-brick  warehouses  she  was  passing.  She 
caught  a  glimpse  of  church  spires  glistening  in  the 
morning  sun.  Her  eyes  were  riveted  to  the  window. 
She  looked  back  —  Kingsville  on  her  seven  hills ! 
Look  well,  Lydia !  You  will  never,  never,  see  it  again ! 

You  were  an  alien  there,  really,  Lydia,  when  you 
called  it  home.  How  could  it  have  been  otherwise 
with  that  fierce  nativism  that  permeated  Kingsville? 
But  in  years  to  come  you  will  look  back  and  it  will 
seem  to  you  that  Kingsville  had  been  home.  Through 
long  years  your  heart  will  sicken  with  yearning  for  a 
sight  of  the  spires  of  Kingsville.  In  memory  you  will 
adore  every  brick  of  its  old  uneven  pavements.  But 
your  eyes  will  not  look  on  its  spires  again,  Lydia,  nor 
your  feet  tread  the  bricks  of  its  old  pavements! 

Only  in  dreams  will  you  flit  through  its  market 
house,  your  little  basket  on  your  arm !  Only  in  dreams, 
Lydia,  will  you  peep  over  its  crumbling  stone  walls  at 
the  roses  that  are  blooming  in  Kingsville's  gardens ! 


CHAPTER  XI 


AFTER  an  hour,  the  train  stopped  at  Pleasant- 
water.  All  the  way  from  Kingsville  Lydia  had 
been  conjuring  up  agreeable  pictures  of  a  pretty  creek 
or  river,  but  when  she  stepped  off  the  train,  she  looked 
around  her,  and  could  not  discover  the  imagined 
stream. 

"  This  way,  miss,  to  the  Cumberland  Hotel !  " 
"  This  way  to  the  Mansion  House !  "  the  negro  porters 
importuned  her. 

She  gave  her  little  bag  to  one  of  them,  and  followed 
him  to  the  Mansion  House.  The  lobby,  with  a  row 
of  armchairs  turned  to  the  wall,  was  solitary  except  for 
a  clerk  behind  the  desk,  a  young  man  in  a  brown 
checked  suit  and  red  tie,  who  looked  hard  at  her  as  the 
porter  threw  open  the  front  door. 

The  clerk  pushed  out  a  big  open  book  to  her.  The 
only  travelling  she  had  done  had  been  a  few  brief  trips 
with  her  father,  but  she  knew  the  procedure  of  regis- 
tering. 

She  was  annoyed  to  find  her  hand  trembling  as  she 
wrote,  Lydia  Lambright,  Kingsville,  below  the  dashing 
signature  of  Max  Loivenstein,  Baltimore. 

"  Be  here  some  time?  "  inquired  the  clerk,  eying  her 
gaily. 

96 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  97 

"  I  don't  know."  She  detested  his  looks.  His 
erupted  face  was  almost  as  red  as  his  satin  tie,  and  his 
hair  was  ostentatiously  "  roached  " —  as  Mrs.  Poole 
would  have  styled  the  arrangement. 

Carrying  her  bag,  he  led  Lydia  through  an  uncar- 
peted  hall,  saturated  with  the  smell  of  stale  grease, 
and  up  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  to  her  room.  He  en- 
tered ahead  of  her,  pulled  up  the  cracked  window- 
shade,  and  after  walking  over  to  the  washstand  and 
looking  into  the  pitcher,  he  helped  the  porter  in  with 
her  trunk,  and  unstrapped  it  himself.  Then  to  her 
utter  amazement,  he  closed  the  door  after  the  porter, 
sat  down  coolly  on  her  trunk  and  began  nonchalantly 
swinging  his  feet. 

"  Ever  been  in  Pleasantwater  before?  " 

"  No."  Lydia  smiled  faintly.  She  wished  she 
knew  how  to  get  rid  of  him. 

44  Think  you'll  like  it?" 

"I, hope  so." 

"Say,  look  here!     What  you  here  for,  anyhow?" 

"  I'm  an  agent." 

"Sure  enough?     What  for?" 

"  I'm  a  general  agent,"  answered  Lydia  evasively. 
"  I  appoint  other  agents." 

She  was  growing  uneasy.  When  was  he  going  to 
leave? 

"Been  at  it  long?" 

She  hesitated  an  instant.  "  Some  time.  Do  you 
know  any  one  here  that's  ever  been  a  book  agent?" 
she  asked.  "  I'm  looking  for  people  who  want  to  sell 
things." 


98  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

His  jaws,  active  with  chewing  gum,  relaxed  momen- 
tarily. 

"  Old  Mclntosh  up  at  the  Junction,"  he  replied, 
after  a  brief  reflection. 

"How  do  I  get  to  the  Junction?"  she  inquired 
eagerly. 

"Walk  the  ties.  I'll  show  you  —  if  you're  right 
sure  you  want  to  go !  "  He  stopped  swinging  his  feet, 
and  winked  at  her. 

"  Oh,"  thought  Lydia,  "  you  young  fool !  I'll  sup- 
press you!  " 

"  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  leave.  I  want  to  get  some 
things  out  of  my  trunk,"  she  said,  with  tart  dignity. 

He  removed  himself  in  a  leisurely  manner  from  the 
high  trunk,  walked  over  to  where  she  was  standing, 
folded  his  arms  and  looked  down  at  her,  narrowing 
his  eyes,  and  scanning  her  face  and  the  lines  of  her 
slim  figure,  intimately. 

She  must  not  let  him  see  she  was  Brightened,  but  it 
seemed  to  her  they  must  be  alone  in  the  hotel,  every- 
thing was  so  quiet.  She  could  not  hear  a  sound. 

"  If  there's  anything  you  want,  call  on  me!  "  he  said 
slowly. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  replied  Lydia..  Her  heart  was 
missing  beats. 

'  Thank  you,"  she  said  again,  in  a  frightened  voice, 
opening  the  door. 

He  approached  the  door,  then  wheeling  abruptly,  he 
threw  his  arm  around  her,  and  fastened  his  lips  on  hers. 

She  tore  herself  away.  Her  hat  had  loosened, 
waves  of  hair  were  tumbling  about  her  face. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  99 

"  I  thought  a  business  woman  would  be  respected 
anywhere !  "  burst  from  her,  her  eyes  blazing  with  in- 
dignation. 

"  You're  a  picture  of  a  business  woman,  you  are !  " 
he  called  back  to  her  scornfully,  from  the  hallway. 

II 

She  turned  the  key  in  the  door.  Her  hands  were 
like  ice.  She  had  but  one  thought  —  to  get  through 
with  Pleasantwater,  and  away  from  it,  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Nothing  in  the  world  could  induce  her  to  stay 
all  night  at  the  Mansion  House ! 

She  hastily  took  out  of  her  trunk  specimens  of  the 
books  she  was  to  furnish  agents  to  sell,  and  started  out. 
As  she  passed  through  the  lobby,  to  her  relief,  the 
clerk  did  not  look  up. 

An  old  brick  building,  that  appeared  to  be  a  court- 
house, was  in  the  square  beyond  the  Mansion  House,  a 
row  of  horses  tied  to  the  hitching-posts  in  front  of  it. 

A  countrified-looking  man  was  untying  his  horse  at 
one  of  the  posts,  and  Lydia  inquired  of  him  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Junction. 

"  Which?  "  he  replied  interrogatively,  staring  at  her 
with  a  dazed  air. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Mr.  Mclntosh's  at  the  Junction. 
Which  way  is  it?  " 

He  pointed  a  long  finger.  "  Thar,  jest  keep  straight 
on  up  yon  way." 

"  Will  I  have  any  trouble  finding  Mr.  Mclntosh's 
house  when  I  get  there?  " 

The  man  was  adjusting  the  saddle-bags  on  his  horse. 


ioo  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

He  turned  to  her,  his  eyes  faintly  illumined  with  inter- 
est. "  Grandpap  Mclntosh?  " 

"  I  — "  she  hesitated  — "  I  think  so." 

"  He  lives  in  a  yaller  house." 

"  Old  man's  bed-ridden,  same  as  bed-ridden,"  he 
called  after  her. 

Bed-ridden!  She  stopped  a  minute,  puzzled  to 
know  what  to  do.  Bed-ridden  Grandpap  Mclntosh 
could  hardly  make  much  of  a  success  selling  either  the 
"  History  of  Famous  Women "  or  the  "  Imperial 
Galaxy  of  Poetry  and  Art  "  ! 

But  she  decided  to  go  on.  Perhaps  he  could  tell  her 
people  in  Pleasantwater  she  could  get  for  agents,  and 
where  to  find  them. 

in 

She  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  house.  There 
was  only  one  "  yaller  "  house  in  Pleasantwater  Junc- 
tion. 

She  scrambled  up  a  clay  bank,  and  had  unfastened 
the  gate  when  a  goat  came  running  toward  her  from 
the  rear  of  the  house,  his  horns  advanced  defiantly. 
For  one  brief  moment  she  wished  she  had  elected  to 
remain  in  Kingsville  and  teach  school. 

The  door  of  the  house  opened  and  a  mild  voice  called 
out,  "  Don't  be  frightened,  honey.  He's  jest  a-tryin' 
to  play  with  you." 

Lydia  smiled  feebly. 

The  voice  called  reassuringly — "Come  along, 
honey.  He  ain't  a-goin'  to  tech  you." 

Lydia  walked  up  to  the  door. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  101 

"  Yes,  he's  here,"  the  woman  who  had  called  out  to 
her  answered  to  her  inquiry.  "  Pore  man,  he's  bound 
to  be  here.  He  cain't  git  away."  She  had  a  pale, 
serene  face,  and,  except  for  a  slight  stain  of  snuff 
around  one  corner  of  her  mouth,  looked  clean. 

"  Pap,"  she  roused  a  gnarled  old  figure  in  a  chair 
by  the  window,  "  here's  a  lady  to  see  you." 

Lydia  sat  down  in  a  rocker.  The  room  was  scantily 
furnished  with  cheap  furniture,  it  had  a  peculiar  and 
depressing  odour,  but  it  was  orderly. 

The  old  man  turned  his  face  toward  her.  "  You're 
a  book  agent,  are  you?  " 

"  A  general  agent,"  corrected  Lydia. 

"  They  ain't  no  difference.  I've  been  both.  If 
there's  any  advantage  with  one  or  tother,  it's  with 
the  regular  agent.  It's  harder  to  get  people  to  sell 
your  books  for  you,  than  it  is  to  sell  'em  yourself." 

"  Now,  Pap,  don't  you  discourage  the  young  lady," 
the  woman  remonstrated  with  him. 

But  Mr.  Mclntosh  evidently  considered  he  was  en- 
titled to  diversion  when  it  came  his  way.  "  Been  at  it 
long  —  appointin'  agents?"  he  questioned  slily. 

"  Some  time." 

"Where  you  been  a-workin'  at  it?" 

"  Little  places  up  above  Kingsville,"  she  answered, 
falteringly. 

"  Greensburg  —  worked  it?" 

11  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  got  Jake  Ross,  then,  I  reckon,  to  go  out 
for  you,"  he  observed,  a  malicious  gleam  in  his  rheumy 
eyes. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia  smiled. 

"Didn't  you?" 

"  No." 

"  You  didn't!  That's  quair !  Never  heard  of  a 
general  agent  going  to  Greensburg  before  and  not  get- 
tin'  Jake  Ross!" 

Lydia's  face  had  flushed.  Why  should  this  old  man 
be  catechising  her?  She  tried  to  ask  him  some  of  the 
questions  she  had  come  to  ask,  but  she  was  on  the  verge 
of  tears,  and  afraid  to  speak,  lest  she  should  break 
down. 

"  Honey,"  remarked  the  woman  pleasantly,  "  you 
look  like  the  book  business  had  treated  you  well !  " 
Her  gentle  eyes  were  appraising  Lydia's  clothes. 
"  How's  the  most  of  'em  wearin'  the  sleeves  now  in 
Kingsville?  Gittin'  any  bigger?  " 

Could  it  be  possible  that  this  flat-chested  woman  of 
Pleasantwater  Junction,  a  collection  of  six  houses  on  a 
clay  bank,  was  interested  in  the  fashions? 

Lydia  was  momentarily  diverted  from  her  misery. 
Smiling  a  little,  she  gave  her  in  detail  the  latest  modes 
in  sleeves. 

IV 

Then  she  got  back  to  the  business  she  had  come  on. 

"  Oh,  give  her  some  names,  Pap,"  the  woman  urged; 
"  some  one  she  might  git  to  sell  her  books  fer  her." 

'  You  know  Pleasantwater's  got  no  persons  wants 
to  go  out  as  agents,  Becky!"  he  replied  snappishly. 
"  I've  canvassed  this  here  town  for  agents  time  and 
again." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  103 

"  Now,  Pap,  there's  Pink  Deaderick.  She's  been 
a-looking  fer  something  to  do." 

Lydia  wrote  down  the  name  of  Pink  Deaderick. 
The  woman  suggested  other  persons.  And  although 
Mr.  Mclntosh  expressed  his  doubts  enthusiastically 
about  each  of  them,  Lydia  finally  had  a  list  of  names 
written  in  her  notebook. 

The  woman  accompanied  her  to  the  gate  when  she 
left.  When  they  were  outside,  she  interpreted  the 
ways  of  the  old  man  —  her  father-in-law  —  apologet- 
ically. "  He  has  a  right  smart  o'  book-larnin',  Pap 
has,  but,  pore  thing,  he  jest  suffers  all  the  time  now! 
You  needn't  to  mind  how  he  goes  on.  I  hope  you'll 
git  Pink,"  she  called  after  her,  as  Lydia  started  down 
the  bank  toward  the  railroad  tracks. 


The  soft  veil  of  early  evening  had  settled  over  Pleas- 
antwater's  ugly  face  when  she  started  back  to  the 
Mansion  House  from  her  last  call  on  a  prospective 
agent.  In  the  quiet  streets  robins  were  chirping  their 
close-of-day  notes.  There  were  few  feet  of  Pleas- 
antwater  that  Lydia  had  not  traversed  in  the  course  of 
her  day.  She  was  faint,  as  well  as  very  tired,  for  in 
order  to  avoid  a  fresh  sight  of  the  hotel  clerk,  she  had 
gone  without  a  noon  meal.  Though  she  said  to  herself 
that  she  must  not  be,  nevertheless  she  was  terribly  dis- 
couraged. 

Pink  Deaderick  had  seemed,  at  one  time,  on  the 
point  of  yielding  to  the  attractive  arguments  in  favour 
of  book-selling  which  she  had  presented  to  her.  Per- 


164  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

haps  she  had  been  too  ardent  with  her.  At  any  rate, 
the  overtures  to  Pink  had  come  to  nothing.  And  the 
others,  mostly  girls,  but  some  of  them  men,  had  listened 
to  her  —  stolidly  unmoved,  their  eyes  full  of  suspicion. 

The  smell  of  fried  ham,  and  of  other  undistinguish- 
able  fried  things,  met  her  when  she  entered  the  Man- 
sion House,  and  as  she  passed  through  the  lobby,  she 
saw  the  clerk  sitting  at  his  supper  in  the  cavernous 
waste  of  the  dining  room.  He  looked  up  as  she  passed. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  dropped. 

When  she  got  inside  her  room,  she  sank  into  a 
chair,  her  books  sliding  to  the  floor. 

She  was  roused  by  a  knock.  The  porter  who  had 
brought  her  from  the  station  was  at  the  door. 

"  Bell's  done  rang!  "  he  announced  respectfully. 

"  I  don't  want  any  supper,  thank  you." 

"  Dey's  a  mighty  good  supper,"  he  stammered  so- 
licitously. "  Batter-cakes  .  .  ." 

"  I'm  not  hungry,  thank  you."  Lydia  smiled  weakly 
at  him. 

The  black  man's  friendly  interest  had  warmed  her 
heart  a  little.  She  went  over  to  the  bureau  where  she 
had  placed  Mrs.  Poole's  lunch  and  sat  down  to  eat 
her  supper. 

Already  the  Pooles  seemed  a  long  way  from  her. 
She  could  hardly  make  herself  believe  that  it  was  only 
in  the  morning  they  had  waved  good-bye  to  her  from 
the  station  platform  at  Kingsville.  And  it  seemed 
weeks  to  her,  since  she  had  come  in  from  her  walk  on 
the  River  Road,  the  evening  before,  and  the  Pooles 
had  been  so  alarmed  because  she  had  been  so  late,  all 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  105 

their  vexation  melted  away  in  their  anxious  hours  of 
waiting. 

Her  heart  was  very  tender  toward  them.  She  could 
remember  so  many  little  kind  things  they  had  done  for 
her,  and  she  could  scarcely  recall  at  all  things  they  had 
done  or  said  to  provoke  her.  She  did  not  see,  now, 
indeed,  how  she  could  ever  have  been  provoked  with 
them. 

Their  life  had  been  very  tiresome  and  commonplace 
to  her,  so  different  from  all  she  craved  might  be  put 
into  her  own  existence,  but  now,  at  the  end  of  her  first 
day's  journey  into  the  world,  what  a  snug  happy  har- 
bour the  Pooles'  home  seemed  as  she  looked  back  on  it  I 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  train  was  hours  late  arriving  at  Pleasant- 
water,  and  was  further  delayed  by  its  ailing 
engine. 

At  the  raw,  black,  unpropitious  hour  of  three  in  the 
morning,  Lydia  arrived  at  Sparta,  and  a  sleepy  darky 
led  her  by  the  light  of  his  lantern  to  the  Bella  House, 
nearly  a  mile  from  the  railroad  station. 

She  slept  soundly  for  several  hours  after  going  to 
bed,  and  was  awakened  by  a  catbird  singing  a  rich, 
voluble  song  outside  her  window.  Sunshine  streamed 
across  the  floor. 

She  was  surprisingly  rested  from  her  fatigue  of  the 
day  before,  and  started  out  buoyantly,  with  a  long  list 
of  names  furnished  her  by  the  clerk,  whose  sad  eyes 
had  at  once  quieted  whatever  fears  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  the  Mansion  House  at  Pleasantwater, 
and  had  satisfactorily  contradicted  to  her  the  cavalier 
ferocity  of  his  huge  flowing  moustache. 

It  was  an  exhilarating  day.  Light  clouds  drifted  in 
the  sky.  Her  heart  was  gladdened  by  the  sight  of 
daffodils  in  bloom  —  long,  golden,  nodding  lines  of 
them  arow  in  old  gardens  she  passed.  She  stepped 
briskly  along  through  streets  that  seemed  to  lead  di- 
rectly into  blue  mountains  at  the  end  of  them. 

At  a  little  after  four  in  the  afternoon,  she  had 

106 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  107 

visited  every  person  whose  name  the  clerk  at  the  Bella 
House  had  given  her.  Some  had  seemed  mildly  inter- 
ested, but,  warned  by  her  experience  with  Pink  Deader- 
ick  at  Pleasantwater,  she  had  refrained  from  over- 
urging  them. 

At  a  few  minutes  after  four,  standing  on  a  hilltop 
overlooking  all  of  Sparta,  she  consulted  her  list.  Two 
days,  and  she  had  not  yet  employed  an  agent.  In  a 
flash  of  alarm,  she  saw  her  slender  roll  of  bills  eaten 
up  by  travelling  expenses,  and  no  bills  earned  to  replace 
them. 

She  decided  to  go  back  to  the  Gobbles.  Mrs.  Gob- 
ble and  Dawn  had  been  more  friendly  to  her  proposi- 
tion than  any  of  the  others  to  whom  she  had  presented 
it.  Both  mother  and  daughter  had  unmistakably  co- 
quetted with  the  idea. 

II 

The  Gobbles  exhibited  no  surprise  when  they  found 
her  at1  their  door  again. 

"  Yes,  Dawn  likes  the  idy,"  Mrs.  Gobbles  admitted. 

There  was  the  same  mysterious  reservation  that 
Lydia  had  observed  before. 

Dawn  had  been  playing  the  organ  when  Lydia  re- 
appeared, but  the  three  sat  rocking  together  now. 

;<  Well,  Mrs.  Gobble,  if  she  likes  the  idea,  will  you 
tell  me  frankly,  then,  why  your  daughter  can't  take  the 
agency?  I  know  she'll  do  well  with  it  .  .  ." 

Lydia  paused,  her  cheeks  rosy,  her  eyes  shining  with 
expectation,  for  Mrs.  Gobble,  though  still  not  commit- 
ting herself,  looked  distinctly  malleable. 


io8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"I  don't  think  it's  no  disgrace,  Miss  Lambright  — 
if  that's  what  you  said  your  name  was  — "  Mrs.  Gob- 
ble began  with  rather  a  challenging  air  — "  I  don't 
think  it's  no  disgrace,  to  own  to  not  havin'  much  — " 

"Of  course  it  isn't!"  Lydia  interrupted  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  Well,  we  jest  ain't  got  the  five  dollars  to  pay  out 
for  Dawn  takin'  the  agency," —  Mrs.  Gobble  warmed 
to  a  confidential  tone — "though  I'd  like  the  best  in 
the  world  to  have  her,  and  Dawn's  mighty  nigh  sick 
to  do  it!" 

Lydia  cast  through  her  mind,  rapidly.  She  was  dis- 
tinctly nearer  to  appointing  an  agent  than  she  had  been 
before.  This  girl,  poor  Dawn,  a  mouth-breather, 
wanted  to  be  an  agent! 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Mrs.  Gobble,"  she  said, 
"  I'll  just  credit  Miss  Dawn  with  paying  me  the  five 
dollars.  I'll  give  her  the  outfit,  the  books  she's  to 
show,  and  her  instructions,  and  order-blanks,  and  every- 
thing, and  then  when  she's  taken  a  few  orders,  she  can 
send  me  five  out  of  what  she  makes.  I  think  that'll 
be  all  right.  She  can  send  it  to  me,  care  of  the  house. 
She'll  have  the  address  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know."  Mrs.  Gobble 
was  still  a  little  reluctant,  though  palpably  pleased. 
"  I  don't  guess  Mr.  Gobble  can  object,  though  .  .  ." 

The  transaction  was  closed  without  much  further 
difficulty,  and  Dawn,  a  faint  tinge  of  colour  struggling 
to  show  itself  in  her  pasty  cheeks,  was  duly  constituted 
an  agent  to  sell  the  "  History  of  Famous  Women  "  and 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  109 

the  "  Imperial  Galaxy  of  Poetry  and  Art,"  all  the 
papers  made  out  appertaining  thereto.  With  timid 
gratitude,  she  accompanied  Lydia  to  the  gate,  and  a 
little  way  down  the  street,  where  they  parted  cordially. 

Ill 

By  the  time  the  distance  between  Lydia  returning 
to  the  hotel,  and  Dawn  returning  to  the  home  of  her 
parents,  had  lengthened  to  two  hundred  feet,  Lydia's 
elation  at  having  appointed  an  agent  was  expiring. 
She  was  not  certain  whether  it  was  the  rather  touching 
figure  of  Dawn  that  had  affected  her  judgment,  or 
whether  it  had  come  about  entirely  through  her  eager- 
ness to  appoint  an  agent  some  way  or  other.  The 
only  thing  she  was  perfectly  certain  of  was  that  she 
had  done  an  idiotic  thing.  How  was  she  to  get  any 
money  herself,  if  she  credited  agents,  when  her  only 
compensation  was  to  be  what  the  agents  paid  her?  It 
was  not  that  Dawn  would  not  pay  her  back,  if  she 
earned  money  selling  the  works,  but — Dawn  Gobble 
would  never  in  the  world  be  able  to  sell  a  copy  of  either 
the  "  History  of  Famous  Women  "  or  the  "  Imperial 
Galaxy."  It  wasn't  in  Dawn  Gobble  to  persuade  any 
one  in  the  world  to  take  anything  in  the  world!  She 
saw  that  plainly  enough  now. 

She  was  heartily  glad  she  had  not  confessed  to  Mr. 
Poole  that  she  herself  had  paid  twenty-five  dollars  for 
the  outfits  she  was  to  furnish  agents  to  sell.  Mr. 
Poole  would  certainly  not  have  approved,  for  though 
she  had  thought  it  was  quite  a  little  sum  she  had  left 


no  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

after  paying  her  father's  funeral  expenses,  he  had  inti- 
mated he  thought  it  was  exceedingly  small,  and  had 
warned  her  to  be  very  careful. 

As  she  approached  the  Bella  House  she  counted  to 
herself  the  number  of  days  her  money  would  probably 
last,  with  the  necessary  daily  expenses  of  railroad  fare 
and  hotels. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


SOME  days  she  was  less  downcast  than  others;  but 
taking  it  all  in  all,  by  the  time  Lydia  had  travelled 
ten  days,  not  an  illusion  regarding  general  agencies  re- 
mained in  her  mind. 

With  the  exception  of  Dawn  Gobble  at  Sparta,  which 
she  never  recalled  without  chagrin,  she  had  not  ap- 
pointed an  agent. 

She  had  talked,  and  talked,  and  talked,  said  every- 
thing she  could  possibly  think  of  to  say,  and  in  every 
manner  she  could  possibly  conceive  of  saying  such 
things.  Those  who  had  never  been  book  agents,  looked 
on  the  occupation,  and  on  the  arguments  she  offered 
for  its  success,  with  suspicion,  and  those  who  had  been 
book  agents,  looked  on  the  occupation  and  the  argu- 
ments with  even  greater  suspicion.  She  wondered  how 
any  one  had  ever  induced  any  one  else  to  become  a 
book  agent,  for  she  knew  there  were  countless  book 
agents  in  the  world. 

Of  the  adventures  she  had  confidently  looked  for- 
ward to  when  she  had  contemplated  the  general  agency 
from  Kingsville  —  she  had  had  not  one !  Her  experi- 
ences had  been  entirely  with  the  poor,  not  with  the 
abject,  suffering  poor,  but  still  with  the  poor  —  the 
ignorant,  the  highly-prejudiced,  the  hopelessly-common- 


ii2  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

place  poor.  Oh,  the  rooms  she  had  shown  her  cheap, 
showy  books  in,  and  smiled  and  chattered  in,  and  tried 
to  woo,  and  all  but  wept  in!  Would  she  ever  forget 
the  look  of  them,  the  shoddy,  pitiful  look?  Would 
she  ever  forget  those  depressing  odours  of  pov- 
erty? 

Whole  days  through  the  spring  sunshine  she  had 
walked  the  streets  of  little  towns  she  had  never  seen 
before,  going  from  one  such  home  to  another,  her  cer- 
tainty growing  and  growing  of  how  different  it  all  was 
from  what  she  had  expected! 

II 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  tenth  day,  as  she  lifted  her 
head  from  the  wiry  plush  upholstery  of  the  car  seat 
against  which  she  had  been  trying  to  rest,  and  looked 
out  of  the  car  window  and  saw  everything  so  lovely  in 
the  fading  daylight  —  the  delicate  pink-and-white  drift 
of  blossoming  fruit  trees,  and  fields  with  little  new- 
born calves  clinging  timidly  to  the  sides  of  their  calm 
mothers,  and  little  colts  practising  on  their  awkward 
new  legs,  and  little  pigs  scampering  foolishly  as  their 
startled  snouts  sniffed  the  passing  train  —  as  she  saw 
little  lambs  running  after  the  old  ewes,  and  a  pair  of 
"  mourning  "  doves  wing-by-wing  on  a  fence  rail  —  as 
she  saw  and  felt  it  all,  suddenly  all  the  wonder  and 
beauty  and  interest  of  the  world,  and  the  realisation 
that  it  was  for  her,  too,  burst  upon  her  as  it  had  that 
afternoon  on  the  River  Road. 

Her  young  heart  filled  with  thirst  for  life.  She 
longed  to  see  the  world,  something  more  than  just  this 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  113 

region  about  Kingsville.  She  longed  to  taste  experi- 
ences far  different  from  those  she  had  tasted. 

She  counted  over  every  penny  in  her  purse.  There 
was  enough  to  buy  a  ticket  to  New  York;  and  Walden, 
her  next  stop,  was  a  railroad  junction  where  she  could 
catch  a  through  train. 

If  she  did  not  buy  this  ticket  to  New  York,  then 
what?  Why,  then  she  would  go  trailing  on,  day  after 
day,  to  one  little  miserable  place  after  another,  and 
pretty  soon  all  her  money  would  be  gone,  and  she 
would  be  stranded  at  a  place  something  like  Pleasant- 
water,  and  have  to  write  to  the  Pooles  for  money  with 
which  to  return  to  Kingsville.  That  she  would  never 
do.  Never ! 

She  did  not  know  exactly  what  she  should  find  to  do 
when  she  reached  New  York,  but  a  city  offered  bound- 
less opportunities;  and,  in  any  event,  whatever  she 
found  it  would  be  more  to  her  taste,  not  harder,  or 
more  barren  of.  results,  than  the  general  agency. 

Except  for  the  thought  that  she  would  have  to  write 
the  Pooles  and  acquaint  them  with  her  change  of  plans 
—  she  pictured  their  dismay!  —  this  moment  was  the 
happiest  she  had  known  since  she  left  Kingsville. 

New  York!     One  of  the  great  cities  of  the  world! 

What  millions  of  young  men  and  women  before  her, 
in  all  countries  and  ages,  had  turned  their  eager  shin- 
ing faces,  their  glowing  hearts,  to  a  great  city,  just 
as  she  was  turning  her  shining  face,  her  glowing  heart, 
to  a  great  city,  believing  that  there,  surely  there,  must 
be  found  life! 

Shining  faces !     Glowing  young  hearts  I 


CHAPTER  XIV, 


LYDIA  paused  on  the  curb,  and  with  her  little  trav- 
elling bag  on  the  pavement  beside  her,  drew  a 
newspaper  clipping  from  her  purse  and  held  it  close 
to  her  eyes.  This  was  the  right  number,  148.  "  Re- 
fined Christian  home  with  bountiful  table."  Ordi- 
narily she  would  have  been  amused  by  this  combination 
of  advantages  which  the  advertisement  offered.  But 
as  she  had  drawn  near  the  city,  she  had  found  herself 
distinctly  more  terrified  than  merry,  and  had  selected 
this  advertisement  from  a  long  list  precisely  because  of 
its  word  —  Christian.  The  word  seemed  to  throw  a 
cloak  of  protection  around  her. 

As  she  mounted  the  steps,  she  was  much  impressed 
by  the  appearance  of  the  house.  She  feared  it  would 
be  higher  priced  than  she  could  afford.  But  the  cab 
had  whipped  off  up  the  street.  No  doubt  she  could 
stop  a  day  or  two,  till  she  found  something  cheaper. 

Her  breath  came  in  odd,  quick  jerks  as  she  stood  in 
the  tiled  vestibule  waiting  an  answer  to  her  ring. 

Through  the  frosted  panes  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
double  doors  she  could  see  some  one  approaching.  A 
coloured  maid  opened  the  door. 

"Is  Miss  Tompkins  in?"  Lydia's  voice  trembled 
slightly. 

JI4 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  115 

"  Yes." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  her,  please." 

The  maid  ushered  her  through  a  dangling  pair  of 
rope  portieres  into  the  front  parlour. 

"  What  name?  "  she  demanded  with  sullen  impolite- 
ness. 

"  Lambright —  I'm  from  the  South  —  Kings- 
ville.  .  .  ." 

II 

Lydia  looked  around  her.  There  were  oil  paintings 
on  the  walls,  and  a  Venetian  scene  in  water-colours. 
A  high  pitcher  of  metal  that  appeared  bronze  stood 
on  a  shelf  at  the  base  of  a  long  mirror  between  the 
front  windows.  On  the  rack  of  an  upright  piano,  a 
hymn  book  was  open.  She  stole  softly  to  the  piano. 
The  hymn  book  was  open  to  "  Bringing  in  the  Sheaves." 
She  had  often  heard  its  vigorous  refrain  pouring  out 
of  Sunday-school  windows  in  Kingsville.  "  Bringing 
in  the  Sheaves !  Bringing  in  the  Sheaves !  " 

She  waited  nervously.  The  lights  were  turned 
rather  low,  and  the  house  seemed  uncomfortably  quiet. 
A  delicate  tip  1  toe !  —  fall  of  a  mouse's  toe  not  lighter 
—  Miss  Tompkins  was  approaching  through  the  back- 
parlour,  a  woman  of  medium  height,  plump,  her  eyes 
prominent  and  protruding,  and  her  grey  hair  arranged 
about  her  face  in  an  orderly  succession  of  premedi- 
tated curls,  not  cork-screws,  but  their  lineal  descend- 
ants. 

"  Miss  Lambright?"  she  pronounced,  with  a  mark- 
edly rising  inflection. 


n6  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia  rose,  and  as  Miss  Tompkins  did  not  sit  down, 
remained  standing. 

"  I  saw  your  advertisement,  Miss  Tompkins." 

"O  —  h?"  Miss  Tompkins  put  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  cool  surprise  into  her  exclamation.  "  Sit 
down,  will  you?  From  the  South,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  from  Kingsville." 

"Kingsville?  Kingsville?"  Miss  Tompkins  said 
it  over  several  times.  She  admitted  she  had  never" 
heard  of  the  place. 

"You  have  references?"  she  asked,  smilingly. 

"  I  just  came.  .  .  .  I've  never  been  here  before." 

"O  —  h?  "  Miss  Tompkins  moistened  her  lips. 
"  I  never  take  any  one  without  references,"  she  said, 
in  a  bland  but  resolute  voice. 

The  colour  spread  in  a  hot  sheet  over  Lydia's  face. 

"  Would  you  be  prepared  to  pay  the  first  week  or  so 
in  advance,  Miss  Lambright?" 

"What  are  your  prices?"  asked  Lydia,  apprehen- 
sively. Under  the  influence  of  Miss  Tompkins'  imper- 
sonal smile,  it  seemed  a  rather  indelicate  question.  "  I 
just  want  —  a  small  room." 

Without  answering  her  inquiry  definitely,  Miss 
Tompkins  led  her  up  flight  after  flight  of  stairs,  each 
floor  lighted  more  dimly  than  the  one  below. 

On  the  top  floor,  she  passed  to  the  front,  entered  a 
tiny  room,  and  lit  the  gas.  She  was  out  of  breath  with 
her  climb,  but  she  explained  the  operation  of  the  gas- 
heater  and  of  the  folding-bed,  and  stated  the  price  — 
nine  dollars  a  week. 

Lydia  counted  out  the  money  and  paid  a  week's 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  117 

board  in  advance.  She  could  stay  two  weeks,  then,  if 
that  was  the  rate.  And  by  that  time,  of  course  she 
would  have  a  position. 

ill 

It  was  some  time  before  she  was  able  to  sleep  after 
she  went  to  bed  —  the  rumble  of  the  elevated  on  one 
side,  the  clang  of  the  surface  cars  on  the  other,  and  all 
through  the  night  the  muffled  roar  of  the  great  city  — 
she  was  actually  in  New  York! 

When  at  length  she  fell  asleep,  she  dreamed  she  was 
in  Kingsville.  Nothing  looked  as  it  had  actually 
looked,  but  she  could  see  her  father's  body  on  its  bier. 
She  seemed  to  be  searching  everywhere  for  his  clothes, 
and  as  she  found  them  they  looked  perfectly  natural, 
his  old  pair  of  shoes,  his  worn  slippers,  and  his  shiny 
coat  with  the  spots  on  the  front.  She  could  see  patches 
and  darns  on  his  undergarments  exactly  where  she  had 
put  them.  Some  one  seemed  to  be  dogging  her  steps. 
She  stuffed  the  clothes  in  a  grate  with  frantic  haste, 
poured  oil  over  them,  and  set  a  match  to  them  —  so 
that  Mrs.  Poole  should  not  find  them  and  see  how 
pitiful  and  shabby  they  were.  The  bundle  blazed,  the 
fire  roared  and  leaped  higher  and  higher,  catching  her 
by  the  arm !  The  flames  were  burning  her  whole  body ! 
She  tried  to  cry  out,  to  make  sjome  one  hear. 

When  she  woke,  she  found  she  had  been  lying  on 
her  arm;  it  was  aching.  Perhaps  she  had  cried  aloud, 
before  she  woke  —  she  was  not  sure.  The  tears 
rolled  down  her  face  while  she  lay  in  the  darkness, 
longing  for  morning  to  come. 


n8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

When  she  fell  asleep  again,  she  was  visited  with 
another,  very  different  dream.  She  thought  she  was 
driving  down  Fifth  Avenue  —  that  apogee  of  the  na- 
tional elegance  which  she  had  heard  and  read  of.  She 
was  in  an  open  carriage,  a  victoria,  like  Mrs.  Ransom 
Churchwell's,  leaning  back  against  the  cushions. 
Throngs  of  people  along  the  sidewalk  were  looking 
at  her.  Then  a  "  poor-white  "  girl,  such  as  hung  about 
the  Market  House  in  Kingsville,  came  running  after  her 
carriage,  calling,  "Miss,  gimme  a  nickel!"  and  an- 
other little  barefoot  "  poor-white,"  with  a  bundle  of 
rich  pine  in  her  arms,  came  running  alongside  the  car- 
riage, asking  her  to  buy,  just  as  the  little  pine-sellers 
ran  after  people  on  the  streets  of  Kingsville  begging 
them  to  buy  their  bundles  of  sappy  pine,  for  kindling- 
wood.  She  stopped  the  carriage  and  took  both  the 
beggar  girl  and  the  pine-seller  up  on  the  seat  beside 
her.  Then  she  woke.  It  was  broad  light,  and  break- 
fast smells  were  coming  through  the  transom. 

IV 

She  spent  a  day  full  of  happy  excitement.  Intoxi- 
cated with  the  city  sights  and  sounds,  with  the  gorgeous 
displays  in  the  shop  windows,  and  with  the  tonic,  ex- 
hilarating air,  she  was  soon  dodging  under  a  horse's 
nose,  grazing  a  wheel,  nimbly  and  gaily  averting  death 
with  each  street  crossed. 

At  first,  after  stepping  out  into  this  glittering  city 
sunshine,  she  was  uneasy  lest  the  vulgar  mark  of  those 
days  she  had  toiled  as  agent  was  stamped  somewhere 
on  her.  But  as  the  hours  advanced,  she  felt  more  and 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  119 

more  purged  of  the  stains  of  Sparta  and  Pleasantwater. 
She  caught  more  than  one  glimpse  of  herself  in 
mirrors  of  the  shop  windows,  and  Bob  Allen's  words 
recurred  to  her  with  a  fresh,  agitating,  delicious  shock 
— "  Little  Lydia  Lambright,  prettier  than  any  of 
them!" 


At  half-past  six  Miss  Tompkins'  dinner-gong 
sounded.  When  Lydia  reached  the  foot  of  the  base- 
ment stairs,  she  could  see  into  the  dining  room.  The 
other  boarders  were  already  there ;  the  room  was  full ; 
and  she  did  not  know  where  to  sit,  as  Miss  Tompkins 
had  told  her  at  breakfast  that  the  seat  she  had  then 
would  not  be  her  regular  seat.  A  spectacled  woman 
looked  out  at  her  frigidly.  Other  women  who  could 
see  the  hall  door  were  scrutinising  her  curiously.  The 
maid  who  had  opened  the  door  to  her  the  night  before 
and  another  coloured  maid  were  moving  loftily  among 
the  tables,  offering  dishes  to  the  boarders. 

Miss  Tompkins  suddenly  fluttered  out  to  her,  a  nap- 
kin tucked  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  been  waiting  long!  "  she  whis- 
pered. "  I'll  put  you  at  the  table  with  Mrs.  Kearney, 
a  widow,  a  delightful  lady  —  I  can't  think  of  her  broth- 
er's name !  But  no  matter,  he  only  comes  in  to  din- 
ner." 

She  led  Lydia  mincingly  to  a  corner  table,  and  intro- 
duced her,  Mrs.  Kearney  assisting  with  the  name  of 
her  brother,  McCarthy.  He  was  middle-aged,  and  a 
bachelor  —  as  he  soon  made  known  to  Lydia  —  a 


120  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

heavily-built  man  with  a  ruddy,  large-featured  face. 
When  he  smiled  he  disclosed  somewhat  discoloured 
teeth.  His  clothes  were  good,  but  he  looked  un-at- 
home  in  them,  like  a  small  boy  forcibly  dressed  in  his 
Sunday  suit.  He  had  been  brought  up  on  a  farm,  he 
said;  yet  he  was  full  of  city  slang,  and  intensely  inter- 
ested in  the  business  and  pleasures  of  the  city. 

"Old  Ladies'  Home!"  he  whispered,  his  eyes 
twinkling,  when  he  caught  Lydia  stealing  glances  at  the 
other  tables  in  the  room. 

There  were  only  three  men  present,  including  Mc- 
Carthy. One,  a  pale,  youngish  man  with  a  pointed 
beard,  wore  a  high-cut  clerical  vest.  He  sat  at  a  good- 
sized  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  women  flanking 
and  opposite  him  —  all  widows  or  spinsters,  McCarthy 
whispered  to  Lydia  —  some  withered,  some  still  vigor- 
ous. They  were  talking  to  each  other,  and  to  the  pale 
man,  always  very  deferentially  to  him,  of  church  mat- 
ters. Occasionally  one  of  them  won  from  him  a  dry- 
as-dust  smile. 

The  talk  was  all  very  subdued  in  tone.  Even  Mrs. 
Kearney  and  her  brother,  who  seemed  the  only  live, 
and  perhaps  worldly  persons  in  the  room,  contented 
themselves  with  undertones.  But  they  kept  up  a  brisk 
conversation  with  Lydia.  Like  Miss  Tompkins,  they 
admitted  they  never  before  had  heard  of  Kingsville. 

"  I  guess  you  won't  be  leaving  Miss  Tompkins'  for 
your  dinners,  after  all,  will  you,  Steve?  "  his  sister  said, 
smilingly,  glancing  at  Lydia,  as  the  three  of  them  rose 
from  the  table  together. 


CHAPTER  XV 


LATE  one  gusty  afternoon,  Lydia,  who  had  been  a 
little  more  than  two  weeks  in  New  York,  dragged 
herself  up  the  steps  of  Miss  Tompkins'  and  let  herself 
into  the  house  with  her  latch-key.  She  had  been  out 
all  day  in  pursuit  of  what  now  appeared  phantom  po- 
sitions. 

As  the  front  door  clicked,  Miss  Tompkins  pushed 
aside  the  portiere  that  hung  at  a  door  in  the  back  hall. 

"  Oh,  that  you,  Miss  Lambright?  Will  you  step 
here  a  moment,  if  you  don't  mind?  " 

"  You  understood,  did  you  not,  Miss  Lambright,." 
she  said,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  bedchamber, 
"  that  board  was  to  be  paid  in  advance?  " 

Motes  of  light  danced  in  the  darkness  that  gathered 
before  Lydia's  eyes.  She  had  the  sensation  of  water 
filling  her  ears,  muffling  Miss  Tompkins'  voice  to  her, 
and  her  own  voice  seemed  to  come  to  her  from  a  great 
distance  as  she  answered  simply,  "  Yes,  Miss  Tomp- 
kins." 

'  You  overlooked  the  fact  that  your  third  week  was 
due  Tuesday?  " 

"  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  wait  till  the  end  of  the  week, 
this  time,  please,  Miss  Tompkins."  As  she  spoke, 
waves  of  heat  and  of  cold  broke  alternately  over  her. 

121 


122  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  did  not  know  why  she  had  said  the  end  of  the 
week.     But  she  had  to  say  something. 

"  May  I  ask,  Miss  Lambright,  why  you  are  in  New 
York?  Have  you  a  position  in  view?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  what  character,  if  I  may  ask?  " 

"  I'm  considering  two  or  three  different  positions." 

An  uncomfortable  silence  ensued.  Lydia's  eyes, 
wandering  uneasily,  took  in  the  ordered  frippery  of  the 
crowded  bedchamber.  A  vision  of  the  long,  tedious, 
spinster  years  that  had  gone  to  the  accumulating  of 
all  this  litter  rose  depressingly  to  her  mind.  But  not 
with  compassion  for  Miss  Tompkins.  She  hardly 
accounted  Miss  Tompkins  a  human  being,  like  herself, 
compounded  of  hopes  and  fears.  Miss  Tompkins  was 
a  boarding-house  keeper,  demanding  board-money,  and 
she  had  none  to  give  her. 

She  started  to  quit  the  room. 

Miss  Tompkins  adroitly  intercepted  her. 

"  Would  it  be  convenient  to  pay  me  —  part,  of  your 
week's  board,  Miss  Lambright?  I  have  my  insurance 
to  meet  this  week." 

With  a  quick  movement,  Lydia  opened  her  purse, 
and  handed  her  a  two-dollar  bill.  "  I  can  pay  that 
much  on  it." 

"Oh!     Thank  you.     Shall  I  give  you  a  receipt?" 

Fingering  the  bill,  Miss  Tompkins  made  a  tentative 
move  in  the  direction  of  her  walnut  secretary. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  care  for  a  receipt."  Lydia's  hand 
was  on  the  portiere,  raising  it,  so  that  she  could  with- 
draw from  the  room. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  123 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  getting  yourself  too  tired,  my 
dear." 

Lydia  smiled  faintly.  "  I  have  a  headache.  That's 
all." 

II 

As  she  went  through  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs,  she 
wondered  feverishly  what  she  should  do  now.  On 
the  third  floor,  she  found  the  maid  who  had  let  her  in 
the  evening  she  came  bent  over  a  book,  under  one  of 
the  gas  jets  that  were  always  lit  in  the  dusky  hallways. 
A  broom  leaned  against  the  wall  at  her  side,  and  the 
dusting-cloths  had  slid  to  her  feet.  Evidently  she  had 
started  to  do  some  cleaning,  but  had  stopped  to  con 
a  lesson.  Viola  attended  school,  giving  her  services 
to  Miss  Tompkins  out  of  school  hours. 

Lydia  glanced  at  the  outlines  of  her  woolly  head 
against  the  light  paper  of  the  wall  behind  her,  at  her 
sprawling  feet,  her  sour  withdrawal  into  the  Latin 
text-book  on  her  knees.  The  picture  at  once  amused 
and  irritated  her. 

The  black  girl  was  reading  over  her  lesson  aloud, 
with  parturient  throes  pronouncing  the  fiery  invective 
against  Catiline,  "O  temporal  O  mores!" 

Lydia  had  read  the  immortal  orations  under  her 
father's  direction.  Something  irresistibly  impelled  her 
to  follow  up  the  halting  syllables  in  a  light,  mocking 
tone. 

"  Senatus  haec  intelligit!  consul  videtf  hie  tamen 
vivitf  "  she  repeated.  "  Can  I  be  of  any  help,  Viola  ?  " 

"  You  needs  help  yo'self,"  mumbled  the  girl,  stick- 


I24  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ing  out  her  lips.  She  had  dropped  back  into  the  vernac- 
ular of  a  Southern  childhood. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Lydia  sharply. 

She  knew  Viola  was  impudent;  it  was  her  own  fault 
that  she  had  been  insulted  1 

But  she  wished  she  could  take  charge  of  Miss  Tomp- 
kins' menage  for  just  one  day!  She  would  like  to 
prove  to  Miss  Tompkins  that  blacks,  like  children, 
were  polite  when  they  were  made  to  be  polite,  and  that 
their  happiness  followed  in  the  wake  of  their  enforced 
politeness.  She  would  like  to  demonstrate  to  her  the 
profound  simplicities  of  the  black  character! 

She  flung  herself  on  the  folding-bed,  burying  her 
face  in  the  cool  pillow.  These  black  minds  were  very 
penetrating,  very  cute,  for  all  their  simplicity.  Viola 
had  guessed  she  was  out  of  money  and  her  board  due! 

Ill 

She  wished  she  could  go  to  sleep  and  forget  every- 
thing. Things  were  going  round  and  round  in  her 
brain.  She  had  answered  every  advertisement  she 
could  find.  In  some  places  where  she  had  applied  for 
work  she  had  met  courtesy;  in  others,  what  she  con- 
sidered brutal  rudeness;  but  courteous  or  rude,  none 
of  the  employers  wanted  her.  "  References  "  were  de- 
manded, just  as  Miss  Tompkins  had  demanded  "  refer- 
ences," and  she  had  no  references.  She  had  no  special 
training  for  anything.  The  only  positions  offered  her, 
were  to  sell  things.  She  could  be  agent  for  anything 
from  hose  supporters  and  face  creams  to  encyclopaedias. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  125 

But  she  had  no  money  to  start  with,  even  if  she  had 
wanted  to  start  out  again  as  agent;  and  her  experience 
with  the  "  History  of  Famous  Women  "  and  the  "  Im- 
perial Galaxy  of  Poetry  and  Art  "  had  given  her  a  dis- 
trust of  all  agencies. 

She  could  get  a  situation  as  domestic  servant.  But 
death  would  be  preferable  to  that. 

She  had  been  thinking  of  death,  as  a  solution,  for 
several  days. 

She  pictured  herself  turning  on  the  gas,  and  Miss 
Tompkins  finding  her  body  stretched  out  stiffly  on  the 
folding  bed.  But  except  for  the  image  of  Miss  Tomp- 
kins' consternation,  she  derived  little  satisfaction  from 
the  picture. 

When  she  thought  of  dying,  of  putting  an  end  to 
herself,  Kingsville  came  back  to  her  poignantly. 
These  spring  nights  were  sweet  there  now  with  honey- 
suckle ! 

She  did  not  want  to  die !     She  wanted  to  live ! 

IV 

But  how  was  she  going  to  live  ?  That  was  the  ques- 
tion torturing  her. 

All  at  once,  an  idea  struck  her.  McCarthy!  iWhy 
wasn't  McCarthy  a  solution? 

Every  evening  she  had  been  with  him,  usually  in  his 
sister's  room,  talking  or  playing  cards.  His  sister's 
room,  the  best  at  Miss  Tompkins',  always  had  fresh 
flowers  in  it,  and  fruit,  and  candy,  and  magazines. 
And  they  both  seemed  to  go  wherever  they  pleased, 


126  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

and  to  have  whatever  they  wanted.  He  had  taken  her, 
with  his  sister,  to  the  theatre,  and  one  Sunday  she  had 
walked  alone  with  him  in  the  Park.  She  had  not  en- 
couraged the  extremely  personal  things  he  had  tried  to 
say  to  her  whenever  they  were  alone  together;  she 
liked  him,  and  liked  to  be  with  him;  but  she  felt  a 
slight  sense  of  recoil  from  the  robust  physical  presence 
of  the  man.  Now,  however,  she  began  to  think  of  him 
in  a  different  way,  and  a  sense  of  relief  crept  over  her. 

When  the  gong  sounded  for  dinner,  she  examined 
herself  a  last  time  in  the  looking-glass.  She  was  ex- 
ceedingly pleased  with  the  reflection.  But  she  dreaded 
presenting  herself  in  the  dining  room.  She  felt  as  if 
the  cold  eyes  of  the  widows  and  spinsters  would  see 
right  through  her,  and  know  perfectly  why  she  had 
dressed  her  hair  in  this  unaccustomed  and  rather  saucy 
style,  and  why  she  had  put  on  her  best  dress  —  made 
by  a  seamstress  in  Kingsville  the  week  before  she  left 
there  —  a  delicate  grey  crepe,  to  which  she  had  added 
a  knot  of  scarlet  velvet  ribbon  she  had  bought  out  of  a 
shop  window  on  her  first  entrancing  day  in  the  city. 

She  felt  the  boarders  stir  as  she  entered  the  dining 
room.  They  were  all  looking  at  her.  She  tried  to 
appear  indifferent,  as  she  made  her  way  across  the 
room. 

McCarthy  rose  quickly. 

"  By  George !  Some  one's  a  beauty !  "  he  exclaimed 
half  under  his  breath. 

Lydia  smiled  sparklingly  on  him.  She  had  recov- 
ered her  equanimity. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  127 

"  Where's  Mrs.  Kearney?  "  she  asked. 

He  explained  that  his  sister  had  been  suddenly  called 
out  of  the  city. 

"Want  to  go  to  a  good  show  this  evening?"  he 
asked,  with  marked  reluctance  turning  his  eyes  to  the 
dish  Viola  was  impatiently  offering  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THREE  hours  afterwards,  Lydia  was  at  the 
theatre.  A  lean,  clownish  man  came  out  and 
sang,  "Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!"  The 
song  was  new,  and  the  audience  kept  him  to  the  point 
of  exhaustion  repeating  with  twists  and  winks,  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Dooley,  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  " 

The  curtain  finally  descended,  and  lights  blazed  on. 
The  orchestra  took  up  the  strain  now,  "  Oh,  Mr. 
Dooley!  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  " 

Lydia  had  laughed  herself  to  tears.  McCarthy 
stooped  to  pick  up  her  programme  which  had  fallen  to 
the  floor,  and  as  he  straightened  himself,  his  shoulder 
brushed  hers.  A  slight  shiver  ran  through  her. 
Neverthless,  under  the  stimulus  of  the  music  and  her 
surroundings  she  was  becoming  every  instant  more 
reconciled  to  the  idea  of  McCarthy  as  a  solution.  He 
was  not  romantic;  he  was  the  farthest  remove  in  the 
world,  indeed,  from  all  her  fancy  had  ever  pictured 
of  a  lover  or  a  husband;  but  in  the  straits  to  which  she 
was  reduced,  the  very  solidity  of  his  look,  the  common- 
ness of  his  grain,  seemed  a  guarantee  of  her  future 
security. 

He  regaled  her  between  the  acts  with  stories  of  other 
shows,  as  he  called  them.  She  had  never  before  heard 

128 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  129 

even  the  names  of  these  actors  and  singers  he  men- 
tioned. 

The  orchestra's  sprightly  strain  of  "  Mr.  Dooley  " 
changed  to  a  soft,  tender  melody,  and,  changing  again, 
merged  into  a  warm,  sensuous  flood  of  music  that 
seemed  to  filter  through  every  fibre  of  her  being.  Mc- 
Carthy was  looking  down  devouringly  into  her  face. 

She  allowed  his  eyes  to  hold  hers  an  instant,  and 
then  dropped  them,  feeling  the  colour  hot  in  her  cheeks. 
Her  eyes  had  said  plainly  — "  I'm  yours,  if  you'll  have 
me !  "  .  .  .  She  said  to  herself  it  was  an  equitable 
proposition  she  was  offering  him.  She  would  give  him 
youth  and  refinement,  and  he  would  save  her  from 
destitution. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  here  always.  I  love  New  York," 
she  said,  abruptly,  ostensibly  studying  her  programme. 

He  looked  at  her  quizzically.     "  Well,  can't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  .  .  ." 

"  Sweetheart  back  in  Kingsville?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  any  one  in  Kingsville,"  she  an- 
swered pointedly.  She  raised  her  eyes  deliberately 
to  his.  But  her  heart  was  less  bold  than  her  eyes. 
She  felt  it  pounding.  If  not  McCarthy,  then  — 
what? 

He  leaned  close  to  her. 

The  house  had  grown  dark.  The  stage  was  bathed 
in  rosy  light.  Bespangled  chorus-girls  were  fluttering 
about  in  an  enchanted  world.  A  swift  impression 
passed  through  Lydia's  mind  that  something  more  un- 
real was  happening  to  her  than  was  happening  on  the 
stage.  She  heard  McCarthy  saying  to  her  in  a  low 


130  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

voice:  "Did  you  mean  that,  little  girl?" — and  she 
felt  his  hand,  under  cover  of  the  dusk  of  the  house, 
giving  her  own  a  fervent  pressure. 

II 

The  great  green  curtain  dropped;  the  orchestra  took 
up  again  the  strains  of  "  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  Oh,  Mr. 
Dooley !  "  Lydia  shrank  a  little  away  from  McCarthy 
as  he  assisted  her  solicitously  with  her  wrap.  He  looked 
so  rotund,  so  almost  ridiculous,  in  his  short  spring  over- 
coat. Suddenly,  as  she  stood  pinning  on  her  hat,  she 
was  aware  of  a  young  woman,  at  a  little  distance  across 
the  house,  trying  to  attract  his  attention. 

"  That  young  lady's  trying  to  speak  to  you,  I  think." 
She  indicated  to  him  the  direction  of  a  pink  evening 
wrap. 

He  bowed  and  smiled  across  the  emptying  seats, 
waving  his  gloves,  and  the  young  woman,  who  wore 
her  black  hair  in  a  huge  "  pompadour,"  waved  her  pro- 
gramme. 

"  Say,  isn't  she  stunning?  "  he  asked,  his  eyes  fol- 
lowing the  pink  wrap  as  it  disappeared  up  the  centre 
aisle. 

"Was  that  her  mother  with  her?"  asked  Lydia, 
with  an  assumption  of  unconcern. 

"Search  me!" 

Then  he  didn't  know  the  young  woman  so  well  after 
all.  She  breathed  more  easily. 

"  She's  handsome.     Is  she  married?  " 

"  Married?  "   McCarthy  laughed.     He  was  mak- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  131 

ing  their  way  aggressively  through  the  pavement 
throngs.  "  No  —  not  now." 

When  they  had  gone  less  than  a  block,  he  stopped 
in  front  of  a  building  from  whose  windows  lights 
streamed  out  across  the  pavement.  Couples  who  had 
come  from  theatre  were  going  up  the  steps. 

"What  do  you  say?  Let's  go  in  and  have  some- 
thing." 

"Oh,  no,  not  to-night!  " 

"No?"  McCarthy  looked  surprised.  "You're  a 
funny  girl!  "  he  said. 

And  the  moment  they  had  passed  on,  Lydia  won- 
dered why  she  had  refused  his  proposal.  She  was 
convinced  she  had  made  a  mistake.  She  wished  she 
dare  say,  "  Let's  go  back." 

Ill 

Suddenly  she  began  to  talk  with  feverish  gaiety, 
about  the  opera,  about  anything,  clinging  a  little  closer 
to  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  could  go  on  forever  and  forever  and 
forever!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Nothing  else,  nothing  to 
worry  about,  just — 'Oh,  Mr.  Dooley,  Oh,  Mr.  Doo- 
ley!  '  She  hummed  the  song. 

They  had  started  down  the  hill  toward  Miss  Tomp- 
kins'. 

McCarthy  paused  under  a  street  lamp,  and  looked 
at  her. 

"  Don't  you  wish  it  could  go  on  forever?  "  she  chal- 
lenged him,  her  eyes  glistening. 


1 32  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  I  wish  some  things  could!  " 

"  Everything  to  the  brave !  "  she  laughed,  as  they 
ascended  the  long  flight  of  steps  at  Miss  Tompkins'. 

Suddenly  he  linked  his  arm  in  hers,  and  bent  over 
her,  trying  to  look  into  her  face. 

They  stopped  in  the  tiled  vestibule.  A  dim  light 
'shone  through  the  frosted  panes  in  the  doors.  Lydia 
was  trembling  violently. 

"  Will  you  give  me  to-morrow  evening  —  go  with 
me  to  dinner  to-morrow  evening?  "  he  asked  in  a  low 
tone.  Before  she  realised  what  was  happening,  he  had 
drawn  her  to  him.  "  You're  my  girl!  "  he  said  husk- 
ily. 

"  Forever  and  forever  and  forever!  "  she  whispered, 
repeating  her  wild  words  of  a  moment  before. 

She  was  saved!  She  had  no  horror  of  him  now. 
But  her  thoughts  were  whirling  dizzily.  The  tension 
of  many  hours  of  over-wrought  nerves  was  breaking 
in  her.  She  felt  weak,  robbed  of  volition.  With  the 
misty  unreality  of  a  dream,  she  was  conscious  that  he 
was  kissing  her. 

"  I  didn't  dream,  that  first  night  I  came,  I'd  ever  be 
engaged  to  you !  "  she  whispered,  pushing  him  a  little 
away,  so  that  she  could  speak. 

She  felt  herself  abruptly  released.  What  had  hap- 
pened? Was  some  one  coming  up  the  steps  behind 
them?  She  looked.  But  there  was  no  one  there. 

"  Engagement !  What  idea  have  you  got  in  your 
head,  little  girl?  "  McCarthy  spoke  crisply,  but  his 
voice  was  anxious.  "  I'm  no  marrying,  man !  You're 
in  the  wrong  pew !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  133 

Lydia  staggered,  reaching  the  doors  for  support. 

"  I  thought  —  I  thought  —  oh,  I  don't  know  what  I 
thought!"  she  faltered.  "I  didn't  know  men,  hon- 
ourable men,  kissed  girls  —  and  made  love  to  them," 
—  her  quivering  words  were  almost  lost  in  sobs  — 
"  unless  they  wanted  to  marry  them!  " 

"  Oh,  look  here !  "  He  tried  to  soothe  her,  but  she 
drew  away  from  him,  searching  the  door  uncertainly  for 
the  keyhole.  Her  body  felt  like  ice,  yet  her  cheeks 
burned  with  unbearable  fire. 

"  Look  here,  little  girl,  don't  take  it  that  way,  for 
God's  sake !  "  he  begged. 

But  she  pushed  the  door  open,  closed  it  quickly 
behind  her,  and  groped  her  way  up  the  stairs,  clinging 
to  the  banister. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


LYDIA,  pale  and  wild-eyed,  lay  staring  straight 
ahead  of  her  at  the  faded  wall-paper.  Her  un- 
dergarments were  strewn  about  anywhere,  and  on  the 
floor  in  a  dejected  heap  lay  the  grey  crepe  dress  she 
had  donned  with  such  proud  assurance  the  evening 
before.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  scarlet  rosette 
peeping  out  from  its  folds,  and  the  sight  sickened  her. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!"  came 
through  the  window,  in  a  high  pert  treble.  She  stopped 
her  ears.  She  wished  she  might  never  again  to  the  last 
day  of  her  life  hear  the  hateful  sound  of  that  song! 
She  had  fallen  asleep  toward  morning,  and  now  this 
butcher's  boy  had  wakened  her  from  oblivion,  and 
recalled  everything  to  her  with  fresh  horror;  She 
hated  herself.  How  could  she  ever  have  courage  to 
look  McCarthy  in  the  face  again? 

But  what  had  he  meant  when  he  said  to  her  in  his 
hoarse  whisper — "You're  my  girl?"  What  had  he 
meant  by  that?  If  he  didn't  want  to  marry  her,  what 
did  he  want  her  for?  Just  some  one  to  take  out  with 
him  in  the  evenings?  to  kiss  and  hold  in  his  arms? 

Another  idea  flashed  through  her  —  an  idea  impos- 
sible of  belief  in  the  broad  morning  light  that  flooded 
the  little  hall  bedroom. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  135 

ii 

The  odour  of  chops  and  of  weak  coffee  came  through 
the  transom.  Another  day  had  to  be  lived.  What 
should  she  do?  What  was  left  to  her  to  do? 

She  brushed  her  hair  out  of  her  eyes,  rose,  and 
wearily  picked  up  her  stockings  from  the  floor.  She 
did  not  hurry.  What  if  she  did  miss  her  break- 
fast? 

She  brushed  her  hair  languidly,  regardless  of  the 
gold  flecks  playing  in  its  soft  lengths.  The  sunshine, 
by  its  contrast,  only  emphasised  her  misery.  She  put 
on  her  blouse,  and  pulled  the  skirt  of  her  suit  over  her 
head  and  adjusted  it.  How  long  ago  it  seemed  since 
that  day  she  had  bought  this  brown  suit  from  the  ebul- 
lient Mrs.  Joy  at  Maxfield's  in  Kingsville !  The  image 
of  herself  in  the  glass  blurred. 

She  lifted  the  grey  crepe  dress,  hung  it  carelessly 
on  a  hook,  and  left  the  room.  After  breakfast,  there 
would  be  one  more  place  to  try  for,  a  secretaryship  she 
had  seen  advertised,  and  had  not  applied  for  because 
she  had  known  so  well  what  they  would  want  —  that 
the  secretary  should  know  shorthand  and  typewriting. 
There  wasn't  a  chance  in  a  million  she  could  get  it. 
But  she  would  try.  And  if  she  didn't  get  it  — 

ill 

A  light,  fresh  breeze  was  blowing  as  she  stepped  out 
of  Miss  Tompkins'.  White  clouds  were  billowing  in 
the  sky's  clear  blue.  It  was  impossible  not  to  be 
slightly  buoyed  up  with  hope  as  she  felt  herself  car- 


136  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ried  along  on  the  shining  stream  of  the  spring  morn- 
ing. 

But  noon  found  her  on  lower  Broadway,  her  hope 
again  dashed.  The  secretaryship  had  been  filled; 
when  she  entered  the  office,  a  young  woman,  the  new 
secretary,  was  taking  down  dictation  in  shorthand  from 
the. man  who  had  advertised  for  a  secretary;  so  there 
had  been,  evidently  enough,  no  chance  at  all  for  her. 

She  stood  hesitating  on  the  curb  for  a  while  after 
she  came  out  of  the  office  building.  At  last,  she  started 
walking  up  Broadway,  hoping  that  as  she  walked  along 
some  idea  of  what  to  do  would  suggest  itself.  But  with 
the  hurrying  midday  crowds  jostling  her,  she  found  it 
difficult  to  think  with  any  clearness.  As  she  came  in 
sight  of  Grace  Church,  its  delicate  grey  spire,  glittering 
in  the  noon  sunshine,  gave  her  a  moment  of  keen  pleas- 
ure, and  lifted  the  apathy  that  wrapped  her. 

When  she  reached  Union  Square,  she  thought  for  an 
instant  of  going  and  sitting  down  on  one  of  its  benches, 
to  see  if  she  could  not  think  out  there  some  plan  of 
future  action.  But  none  of  the  benches  were  entirely 
vacant,  and  the  men  on  them  looked  seedy  and  dejected, 
and  she  did  not  want  to  be  near  them. 

Occasionally  she  stopped  and  looked  into  a  shop  win- 
dow, gazing  at  the  articles  displayed,  but  hardly  seeing 
them.  She  could  think  of  only  two  possibilities  now: 
to  write  the  Pooles  for  money,  and  ignominiously  re- 
turn to  Kingsville;  or  turn  on  the  gas  at  Miss  Tomp- 
kins'.  Only  a  miracle,  now,  could  save  har  from 
one  of  these  alternatives,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that,  of 
the  two,  she  would  rather  end  herself  with  gas.  Mist 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  137 

gathered  before  her  eyes,  and  she  had  the  feeling  of 
being  in  a  trance,  as  she  kept  walking  along  beside 
others  on  the  sidewalk  who  were  going  in  the  same  di- 
rection. 

As  she  found  herself  safely  delivered  on  the  pave- 
ment, from  the  vortex  of  the  three  streets  that  meet 
below  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  she  looked  up  at  the 
light  fagade  of  the  hotel  flashing  in  the  noon  sun,  and 
something  stirred  faintly  in  her.  She  felt  a  singular 
vague  sense  of  protection  in  its  nearness.  Kingsville 
people  were  in  the  habit  of  stopping  here  when  they 
were  in  New  York.  The  ghost  of  something  dear  and 
familiar  seemed  hovering  near  her. 

She  paused  in  front  of  the  ladies'  entrance.  Why 
not  go  up  and  sit  down  quietly  in  the  parlour,  and  try 
to  think  out  there  what  she  should  do?  Anything 
would  be  better  than  going  back  to  Miss  Tompkins'. 

She  stood  irresolutely  under  the  portico  of  the  ladies' 
entrance.  The  porter  looked  out  on  her  through  the 
glass  doors,  respectfully  waiting  for  her  decision. 

She  heard  something!  Was  she  dreaming?  Or 
had  she  lost  her  mind  ?  Her  heart  almost  stopped  beat- 
ing. She  heard  some  one  calling  her  name.  She  looked 
around.  It  was  Ransom  Churchwell,  approaching  her 
swiftly  from  the  main  entrance  of  the  hotel. 

IV 

He  caught  her  hands  in  both  his. 
"  Lydia,  in  God's  name,  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Churchwell !  "     She  clung  to  his  hands. 
He  was  so  tall,  so  well  built,  so  graceful,  so  well  dressed. 


138  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  saw  everything  about  him.  Every  least  thing  in 
his  appearance  stamped  itself  on  her  mind  with  joy  at 
once  exquisite  and  painful. 

"  I'm  so  glad  ...  to  see  you  .  .  .  Mr.  Church- 
well  ...  it  seems  as  if  ...  I  should  —  die!  " 

"  Lydia,  what's  the  matter?  What  are  you  doing 
here  in  New  York?  I  thought  you  were  travelling,  for 
a  book  concern,  around  in  the  State,  near  Kingsville. 
Mr.  Poole  told  me  you  were." 

"  Oh,  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Churchwell," 
she  said  breathlessly.  "  I  can't  tell  you  here — " 

"  No,  no,  not  here,  of  course  not.  We'll  go  inside. 
But  wait  a  minute."  He  took  out  his  watch.  "  I  have 
an  appointment,  very  soon." 

She  wanted  to  say,  "  Oh,  don't  leave  me !  "  She 
could  hardly  keep  from  saying  it. 

Churchwell  smiled  reassuringly.  "You  poor  child! 
You're  in  trouble !  But  don't  worry  another  minute 
—  I'll  look  after  you,  Lydia!  I'll  come  for  you,  and 
we'll  go  to  dinner  somewhere  this  evening,  and  then 
you  can  tell  me  everything  —  and  whatever  it  is,  I'll 
fix  it  up  for  you!  Don't  worry  any  more.  Where 
are  you  staying? 

"  I  think  something  told  me  you  were  here,  Lydia, 
and  needed  me !  "  he  said,  writing  down  the  address 
she  gave  him.  "  I  was  talking  to  a  man  there,  just 
inside  the  door,  when  I  realised  it  was  you  that  had 
passed.  I  was  surprised,  and  yet  somehow  I  wasn't 
surprised." 

He  looked  at  her  in  the  old  sympathetic  way,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  in  a  new,  and  strangely  intimate  way. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  139 

"  You  needed  me,"  he  said  softly,  "  and  I  came !  " 
She  was  conscious  that  the  old  red-faced  porter  in- 
side the  door  was  watching  them.  But  she  did  not  care. 
She  did  not  care  for,  or  know,  anything,  except  Church- 
well.  He  was  her  whole  world,  and  he  was  standing 
close  beside  her  under  the  portico  of  the  ladies'  en- 
trance to  the  hotel. 

"  It  was  a  miracle  I  was  there,  and  saw  you,  Lydia, 
just  as  you  were  passing!  " 

"  A  miracle!  a  miracle!  "  she  said,  her  eyes  shining 
into  his.  She  was  vibrating  with  the  sweetest,  most 
wonderful  joy  she  had  ever  known. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


LYDIA  had  dressed  and  was  listening  for  every 
sound.  She  walked  to  the  window,  her  limbs 
weak,  and  looked  down  into  the  street,  where  the  lights 
were  lit  now. 

Some  one  rapped.  When  she  opened  the  door,  it 
was  Viola  holding  out  to  her  a  long  paste-board  box. 

"Has  —  has  —  any  one  called  for  me?"  she  in- 
quired, taking  in  the  box. 

"  No'um." 

She  lingered,  and  Lydia  saw  that  the  girl  was  curi- 
ous about  the  box  she  had  brought  up,  but  she  closed 
the  door  and  untied  the  cord  with  trembling  fingers.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  received  a  florist's 
box,  and  she  was  delighted,  but  not  greatly  surprised. 
Anything  might  happen  now ! 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  roses,  revelling  in  their 
warm,  moist,  hothouse  perfume. 

A  card  caught  her  eye,  and  she  drew  it  out  from  the 
stems.  Stephen  T.  McCarthy. 

"  So  he  sent  them !  " 

She  lifted  them  nonchalantly  from  the  box,  and  ar- 
ranged them  in  her  only  available  receptacle,  the  water- 
pitcher  on  her  washstand.  Why  was  he  sending  her 
roses?  She  felt  a  sense  of  shame;  it  was  almost  as 
if  he  were  offering  her  payment  for  her  kisses  or  for 

140 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  141 

her  frank  designs  on  him  that  she  had  let  him  see! 
However,  as  she  thought  now  of  the  happenings  of 
the  evening  before,  they  no  longer  affected  her  with 
quite  the  same  sense  of  humiliation  they  had  a  few 
hours  earlier. 

II 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  after  Miss  Tompkins'  dinner- 
gong  sounded  when  Churchwell  came  for  her.  As  she 
hastened  down  the  last  flight  of  stairs,  she  encountered 
the  prim-visaged  lady  boarders  ascending  from  dinner, 
singly  and  in  pairs.  They  looked  beyond  her,  or  aside. 

But  Miss  Tompkins  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
near  the  doorway  leading  into  the  front  parlour,  ap- 
parently waiting  for  her.  Though  her  face  wore  its 
habitual  smile,  her  eyebrows  were  elevated.  "  Why, 
going  out  again?" 

"  Yes,"  Lydia  smiled.  Through  the  rope  portieres 
she  could  see  Churchwell  seated  in  the  parlour  waiting 
for  her. 

At  the  moment,  McCarthy,  who  had  come  up  from 
the  basement,  had  turned  and  was  coming  toward  her. 
She  pretended  not  to  see  him.  But  as  she  turned  from 
Miss  Tompkins  into  the  parlour,  she  knew  that  he  was 
advancing  toward  the  hatrack  in  the  front  hall,  and 
while  she  stood  talking  with  Churchwell  in  the  parlour, 
fastening  her  gloves,  she  was  conscious  that  McCarthy 
was  lingering  by  the  hatrack,  drawing  on  his  own  gloves, 
and  that  he  was  probably  listening  to  what  she  and 
Churchwell  were  saying.  She  glanced  out  at  his  broad 
back,  wishing  he  would  leave. 


1 42  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  heard  the  front  door  close  behind  him,  and  the 
next  moment  she  left  the  house  with  Churchwell  and 
entered  a  carriage  that  was  waiting. 

It  was  too  wonderful  to  be  true  that  she  should  be 
beside  Churchwell  in  this  closed  carriage !  She  was  on 
the  brink  of  she  knew  not  what,  and  with  the  closing 
of  the  carriage  door,  little  waves  of  exquisite  fear  be- 
gan surging  through  her  blood. 

Churchwell  turned  so  he  could  look  more  directly 
into  her  face. 

"  Lydia,  how  beautiful  you  are !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself?  You've 
changed  since  I  last  saw  you  I  " 

She  was  wearing  the  grey  crepe  dress,  and  the  scarlet 
knot  of  ribbon. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  I've  been  through,  Mr. 
Churchwell !  "  she  said  quickly. 

"  Tell  me,  you  poor  little  girl !  "  He  took  her 
hand,  and  her  fingers  thrilled  through  the  gloved  clasp. 
"  Tell  me  everything." 

"  Oh,  I've  tried  so  many  things,  and  can't  find  any- 
thing to  do,  and  my  board's  due,  and  I'm  out  of 
money  .  .  ." 

"Out  of  money?" 

"  I  just  have  a  few  cents.  .  ." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  Lydia,  alone  here  in  the  city,  without 
money!  " 

He  released  her  hand,  and  drew  some  bills,  a  num- 
ber together,  quickly  out  of  his  billbook,  and  pressed 
them  into  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  protested  faintly. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  143 

She  was  conscious  of  curiously  mingled  sensations 
as  she  felt  the  bills  in  her  fingers. 

"  You'll  hurt  me,  Lydia,  if  you  don't  take  this,"  he 
said,  and  she  could  sec  his  eyes  were  blurred  with  tears. 
She  could  hardly  remember  ever  before  to  have  seen 
tears  in  a  man's  eyes.  She  placed  the  money  in  her 
purse,  showing  him,  her  own  eyes  tear  dimmed,  how 
few  coins  she  had  left. 

"  It's  horrible  to  think  what  you've  been  through!  " 
he  murmured. 

Then  they  were  silent.  She  trembled  to  feel  his 
arm  lightly  against  hers. 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  the  driver  got  off  the  box, 
and  held  open  the  door.  Lydia  looked  up  and  down 
the  quiet  street  while  Churchwell  gave  the  driver  some 
low  directions  which  she  did  not  try  to  hear. 

Ill 

They  entered  glass  doors,  and  mounted  a  broad  flight 
of  stairs.  In  the  subdued  light  of  the  landing  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs  a  waiter  with  expansive  shirt  front 
stood  waiting  to  receive  them,  and  a  boy  in  red  uniform 
took  their  wraps.  The  waiter  ushered  them  into  a 
room  glowing  under  crimson-shaded  lights.  It  was 
the  most  beautiful  room  Lydia  had  ever  seen.  The 
ceiling,  which  was  not  very  high,  was  supported  by 
marble  columns,  and  the  walls,  on  delicate  bluish-green 
tiles,  pictured  cupids  and  goats  disporting  themselves 
in  a  vineyard.  Everywhere  the  vine  of  the  grape  was 
intertwined.  The  goats  had  rose-garlands  about  their 
necks  and  drew  little  wagons  after  them  that  were 


i44  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

heaped  with  grapes,  and  the  cupids  bore  great  loads  of 
grapes  in  their  chubby  naked  arms. 

Around  the  room  were  small  alcoves,  half  open  to 
view,  yet  with  their  hangings  of  crimson  silk,  having  an 
air  of  seclusion.  A  waiter  conducted  Lydia  and  Church- 
well  to  one  of  these  alcoves.  Its  little  table  was  set 
with  two  places.  Between  the  places  was  an  arrange- 
ment of  lilies-of-the-valley  mingled  with  red  roses. 

"  I'm  so  glad  he  gave  us  the  table  with  the  flowers!  " 
Lydia  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Churchwell  smiled.  "  This  is  our  table,  reserved 
for  us,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  Are  the  flowers  the 
kind  you  like  ?  " 

She  flushed.  The  realisation  that  he  had  ordered 
the  flowers  as  well  as  the  table  filled  her  with  a  sort 
of  terrified  delight.  But  she  was  conscious  of  having 
appeared  perhaps  a  little  countrified.  It  vexed  her. 
She  did  not  wish  to  be  thought  so  foolishly  unso- 
phisticated. She  wanted  more  than  anything  else  to 
appear  attractive  in  his  eyes. 

When  the  waiter,  a  serious  German,  whose  presence 
intimidated  her,  withdrew  with  the  order,  she  called 
Churchwell's  attention  to  a  small  embossed  hoof  at  the 
top  of  the  menu  —  Mephisto's  printed  above  the  hoof. 

"  Look,  it's  a  cloven  hoof !  Is  Mephisto's  the  name 
of  this  place?" 

"  Yes,  Mephisto's."  Churchwell  picked  up  the  menu 
card,  running  over  it  for  something  he  had  omitted 
from  his  order. 

Lydia  studied  his  face  —  his  characteristic  Church- 
well  nose,  conspicuous  but  handsome,  his  Churchwell 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  145 

chin  with  its  just  perceptible  cleft,  his  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  brown  without  cast  of  black,  and  his  beard  show- 
ing faintly  under  the  close-shaven  skin.  .  .  .  And  she 
was  here  with  him,  alone,  in  this  enchanted  place !  She 
could  not  understand  why,  when  she  was  so  happy,  she 
should  be  also  frightened  —  frightened  whether  at  him, 
herself,  the  place,  she  hardly  knew! 

Churchwell  constantly  urged  her  to  eat,  helping  her 
to  delicate  portions  of  the  different  dishes  he  had  or- 
dered, but  she  only  nibbled  her  roll,  sipped  her  wine, 
and  played  a  little  with  her  fork.  She  wondered  how 
she  could  be  telling  him  all  these  things  that  had  been 
shut  up  in  her  for  so  long.  When  she  told  him  of  the 
little  subterfuges  to  hide  poverty  that  she  had  been 
driven  to  in  the  days  before  and  after  her  father's 
death,  she  saw  his  eyes  cloud  with  tears,  as  they  had 
in  the  carriage;  and  when  she  related  to  him  her  ex- 
periences as  general  agent,  he  burst  out  laughing, 
though  in  the  next  breath  he  exclaimed  anxiously,  "  Oh, 
you  romantic  little  Lydia,  you  were  never  intended  to 
cope  with  this  big  world!  " 

'  This  morning,  when  I  stood  there,  where  you 
called  me,"  she  continued,  "  I  was  thinking  of  ending 
it,  to-night,  by  turning  on  the  gas !  " 

"For  God's  sake,  child!"  He  laid  his  hand  im- 
pulsively on  hers.  "  Lydia,  promise  me  you'll  never 
think  of  such  a  thing  again." 

"Oh,  you  haven't  been  through  it!"  she  answered 
impetuously.  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  alone 
in  the  world,  to  have  nothing,  and  not  to  know  what  to 
do!" 


146  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  You  never  shall  again,  Lydia,"  he  said  slowly,  with- 
out smiling. 

IV 

The  waiter  refilled  their  glasses.  Lydia  was  fas- 
cinated watching  the  bubbles  in  the  stem  of  her  glass. 
Every  drop  of  the  seething  ruby  wine  was  magically 
alive. 

At  the  window  near  them  the  curtains  were  blown 
gently  into  the  room  by  the  soft  breeze  of  the  spring 
evening.  An  orchestra  in  a  balcony  was  playing  a  pop- 
ular air,  and  some  one  at  one  of  the  tables  was  hum- 
ming the  air  after  the  orchestra,  "  The  Good  Old 
Summer  Time,  the  Good  Old  Summer  Time." 

Whichever  way  she  turned  she  saw  lights  dancing 
up  and  down  before  her  eyes.  Suddenly,  she  leaned 
across  the  narrow  table  till  her  flushed  face  almost 
touched  Churchwell's.  She  saw  his  eyes,  but  she  saw 
these  same  points  of  light  that  were  dancing  all  over 
the  room  dancing  between  her  eyes  and  his. 

"  Is  it  the  wine?  "  she  asked,  smiling,  but  bewildered. 
"  It's  something  running  clear  down  to  my  finger  tips !  " 


"Why  did  you  leave  Kingsville,  Lydia?"  he  asked 
a  moment  later. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Churchwell,  how  can  you  ask  me  that? 
Why  should  I  stay  in  Kingsville?  What  could  I  do 
there?  Your  Kingsville  and  my  Kingsville  are  two 
very  different  places,  you  know,  Mr.  Churchwell! 
Everything  beautiful  and  desirable  there  is  yours.  But 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  147 

what  was  there  for  me  if  I  stayed  in  Kingsville?" 
She  spoke  with  agitation,  and  a  trifle  scornfully.  In 
the  midst  of  her  complex,  confused  emotions,  she  felt  a 
touch  of  the  old  bitterness  at  the  thought  of  all  she  had 
envied  and  been  shut  out  from  in  Kingsville.  "  A 
school-room  — " 

"  Heaven  forbid,  Lydia,  that  your  loveliness  should 
have  been  buried  in  a  Kingsville  school-room! 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  my  letter?"  he  inquired. 
"Didn't  you  get  it?" 

"  Yes  ...  I  got  it." 

"  Why  didn't  you  answer  it?  " 

"  I  .  .  ."  she  hesitated.  "  I  .  .  ."  She  brushed 
back  her  hair  from  her  face.  "  I  don't  know." 

"  You  do  know!  "  He  held  her  eyes  steadily  with 
his. 

"  I  did  write  ...  I  tore  them  up  .  .  ." 

"Why?" 

"  I  was  afraid  .  .  ." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"Afraid  .  .  .  afraid  .  .  .  that  I  would  say  —  Oh, 
don't  make  me- tell  you !  " 

"  If  you  hadn't  been  afraid,  Lydia,  you  would  have 
said  —  ?  "  he  persisted,  in  a  low,  deliberate  voice. 
"  What  would  you  have  said,  Lydia?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me !  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  the  wistful  appeal  of  a 
child.  She  felt  something  in  her  breaking,  and  she  was 
trying  to  keep  it  from  breaking.  But  she  felt  power- 
less, gradually  giving  way  to  something  stronger  than 
herself.  Delicious  warmth  was  in  her  veins,  and  some- 


148  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

thing  in  her  was  throbbing  madly,  at  once  battling 
against  this  man,  yearning  to  yield  to  him.  "  Don't 
ask  me." 

"Yes—" 

"  Oh,  you  know." 

"Tell  me,  Lydia!" 

"  I  love  you!  "  With  a  little  gasp  she  turned  her 
quivering  face  away  from  his  view. 

"  Lydia,  look  at  me !  " 

She  heard  his  low  voice,  and  felt  the  pressure  of  his 
hand  on  her  own,  agonisingly  sweet. 

"  I  love  you  with  my  whole  being,  child !  I've  al- 
ways loved  you." 

"  Oh,  but  you  think  of  me  only  as  a  child!  "  she  in- 
terrupted him  passionately. 

"  No,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  not  that  way.  As  a 
man  loves  a  woman!  " 

"  Tell  me,"  she  whispered,  "  it  isn't  wrong  for  me 
to  love  you?  " 

"  Wrong?  It's  the  most  right  thing  in  the  universe, 
Lydia!  We're  each  other's.  Nothing  could  keep  us 
apart!  Think  of  the  miracle  of  our  meeting  this 
morning!  " 

She  was  comforted.  She  heard  him  murmuring  low, 
worshipful  words  to  her.  "  I've  always  thought  of 
you,  Lydia,  like  these  lilies  —  so  slim,  and  delicate, 
and  pure  —  and  then  fire  glowing  in  you,  too,  like  these 
roses !  You're  just  like  flame  sheathed  in  pearl,'  that's 
what  you're  like,  my  darling!  You're  all  that  a  man 
can  long  for  in  woman,  Lydia !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  149 

VI 

She  saw  the  little  naked  cupids  on  the  blue-green 
walls,  and  the  goats  with  their  garlands  of  roses,  wav- 
ering, shifting,  merging  into  each  other,  all  jumbled 
together  as  she  looked  at  them.  She  realised  that  she 
was  walking  between  the  tables  in  the  main  room 
toward  the  door  by  which  she  and  Churchwell  had  en- 
tered and  that  people  at  the  tables  were  watching  her. 
She  hoped  they  did  not  notice  that  her  steps  were 
unsteady,  but  she  did  not  greatly  trouble  herself  about 
the  matter.  It  was  all  right.  No  matter  what  they 
thought.  She  knew  Churchwell  was  close  beside  her. 

In  the  vestibule  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  held  her 
to  him.  There  was  only  the  dark,  quiet  street  outside, 
and  a  waiting  carriage,  and  behind  them  the  blurred 
strains  of  the  orchestra  drifting  down  from  the  glow- 
ing room  above  that  they  had  just  left. 

"  Will  you  trust  me,  Lydia?  " 

She  heard  his  voice  in  her  ears. 

"  I  trust  you,"  she  whispered,  "  absolutely!  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THE  fading  afternoon  light  entered  softly  through 
Mephisto's  lace-shrouded  windows.  A  few  wait- 
ers stood  about  in  the  hushed  room,  watchful  and  silent. 
Here  and  there  at  a  table  a  man  and  woman  were 
talking  together  in  low  tones,  absorbed  in  each  other. 
Lydia  and  Churchwell  were  seated  in  an  alcove,  the 
same  they  had  occupied  the  first  time  he  brought  her 
to  the  place,  two  weeks  earlier.  They  had  been  talk- 
ing about  his  leaving  for  Kingsville.  Lydia  was  ab- 
sently twirling  the  slender  stem  of  the  glass  the  waiter 
had  set  before  her.  Her  eyes  had  clouded. 

"  There's  something  troubles  me,"  she  said,  "  some- 
thing that's  so  hard  to  tell  you." 

A  terrible  idea  had  kept  recurring  to  her  whenever 
she  was  alone  in  the  last  day  or  two  —  an  idea  that 
there  was  something  in  common  now  between  her  and 
those  strange,  loathsome  creatures  whose  painted  faces 
she  had  seen  hurriedly  drawing  back  from  the  windows 
at  Ann  Rogers' — a  Kingsville  institution  (as  stable 
as  the  Court  House)  which  she  had  passed  countless 
times  going  to  and  from  Market. 

"  Come,  tell  me  what  it  is,  troubling  you,  Miss  Aris- 
totle! " 

"Miss  Aristotle!"  A  tear  coursed  slowly  down 

150 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  151 

Lydia's  cheek.  "  That's  what  you  used  to  call  me  in 
Kingsville  .  .  .  when  father  .  .  .  when  we  were  all 
there  together  1  " 

Her  voice  dropped,  and  she  looked  at  Churchwell 
intently.  "  Do  you  respect  me  —  as  you  did  —  then  ?  " 
she  asked  falteringly. 

"  Why,  my  little  girl !  "  He  folded  her  hand  in 
his. 

"  Because  .  .  .  because  I  always  imagined  that  men 
didn't  think  quite  the  same  of  women  .  .  .  after — " 

"  Lydia !  " 

"  You  know  I'm  not  the  same,  now,  as  in  Kings- 
ville !  "  she  went  on  resolutely. 

Her  eyes  had  grown  big  in*  her  flushed,  anxious  face. 

"Lydia,  my  darling!"  he  tried  to  stop  her  from 
saying  more. 

"  I'd  rather  die  than  think  you  loved  me  less  —  than 
before!" 

''Less?  Lydia,  there  is  no  other  woman  in  the 
world,  not  one,  I  honour  as  I  do  you!  If  you  de- 
scended to  the  gutter,  you'd  still  be  little  Lydia  to  me, 
more  pure  and  lovely,  in  my  eyes,  than  any  other  woman 
in  the  world!  " 

Lydia  sighed.  She  was  not  quite  at  peace  yet,  but 
she  wanted  to  enjoy  this  last  hour,  she  wanted  to  forget 
that  she  had  associated  herself  even  in  imagination 
with  those  painted,  squabbling,  terrible  women  at  Ann 
Rogers'. 


152  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ii 

Churchwell  looked  at  his  watch  for  the  second  time. 
"  I  wish  we  could  have  dinner  together  this  evening,  too, 
Lydia.  But  duties,  you  know." 

"Duties?"  she  repeated  wonderingly. 

Her  heart  was  beginning  to  sink,  at  the  thought  that 
he  would  soon  be  on  his  way  to  Kingsville.  She  wished 
she  were  going  back  herself.  She  was  homesick  for 
Kingsville. 

"  I've  been  with  you  almost  every  evening,  Lydia. 
I  must  dine  with  the  family,  this  evening!  "  His  eyes 
twinkled  a  little. 

"Family?     What  do  you  mean?  " 

His  face  sobered.     "  My  wife,  of  course." 

"Your  wife!" 

She  pushed  her  glass  away,  and  sank  against  the  back 
of  her  chair. 

"  She  isn't  here,  in  the  city,  with  you?  "  she  inquired 
breathlessly. 

"  Yes." 

"Has  she  been  here  —  all  the  time?  That  night, 
you  brought  me  here  —  first?  " 

"  Oh,  she  was  here,  I  see,"  she  said,  when  he  did  not 
answer  her. 

"  Had  you  been  here,  at  Mephisto's,  yourself,  be- 
fore —  that  night?  "  in  the  same  breathless  aloof  voice. 

"  Certainly." 

"With  her?" 

"  No." 

"Oh,  with  other  women!" 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  153 

"  Perhaps,"  he  admitted,  impatiently.  "  A  man's 
life,  and  a  young  girl's,  Lydia,  are  very  different 
things." 

"  So  it  seems,"  she  replied  slowly.     "  So  I've  heard." 

An  ironic  smile  crept  over  her  blanched  face. 

"  But,  you  know,  some  way  I  thought  — "  breathing 
heavily  between  her  words,  "  I  thought  what  you  told 
me  .  .  .  was  true  —  that  you  had  been  waiting  for  me 
always,  that  I  was  —  the  love  of  your  life,  not  just  one 
—  of  many!  " 

"  Oh,  Lydia,  you  are  the  love  of  my  life !  "  he  in- 
sisted quickly,  with  tender  solicitude.  "  There  have 
been  women  in  my  life,  dear,  of  course.  How  did  I 
know  you  were  waiting  in  the  world  for  me?  Most 
men  go  through  their  whole  lives  dreaming  of  the  in- 
comparable one,  and  she  never  comes !  How  did  I 
know,  blessed  heart,  that  your  little  feet  were  travelling 
to  meet  me?  Had  I  known,  there  would  have  been 
no  others !  " 

Lydia's  mouth  trembled. 

u  Lydia,  you  must  understand !  I've  passed  the  time, 
yes  —  I've  been  a  lover  of  women,  in  a  sense,  as  all 
the  Churchwell  men  before  me  have  been.  But  I  know, 
now,  that  till  you  came  to  me  I  had  never  really  known 
what  love  was!  Don't  be  sad,  little  Lydia,"  he  en- 
treated. "  I  want  so  much  to  make  you  happy!  " 

"  But  your  wife,"  she  repeated.  "  It's  so  horrible 
to  me,  to  think  she's  been  here  —  all  the  time !  You 
loved  me,  and  then  — " 

She  covered  her  face.  The  beauty  and  sacredness 
of  their  love  was  irreparably  tarnished! 


154  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

The  waiter  approached  cautiously,  but  Churchwell 
waved  him  away. 

"  Lydia,  you  must  see  things  differently,"  he  pleaded 
with  her.  "  No  one  is  sharing  the  feeling  I  have  for 
you.  You  have  all  my  love !  Countless  things  influ- 
ence a  man  to  marry  —  propinquity,  or  a  pretty  figure 
ravishes  his  imagination,  or  something  of  the  sort.  A 
man  thinks,  perhaps,  it's  love,  and  then,  later,  he  learns 
what  love  really  is!  I  have  respect  and  affection  for 
my  wife.  She's  devoid  of  imagination,  but  she's  a 
good  woman." 

"  No,  she  isn't!  She  isn't  a  good  woman  at  all!  " 
Lydia  interrupted  hotly. 

He  looked  at  her  all  at  once  with  amusement. 

"  Lydia,  if  you  didn't  look  so  adorable,  with  those 
flames  in  your  eyes,  I'd  scold  you  for  saying  that!  " 

That  he  could  banter  at  such  a  moment !  "  Don't 
defend  her!  She  isn't  good  at  all!  She's  had  every- 
thing all  her  life,  wealth,  and  position,  and  a  beautiful 
home  —  and  everything!  She's  always  been  pro- 
tected, and  spoiled!  Oh,  I  know  her,  I  know  what 
she's  like!  And  I  hate  her!" 

Churchwell  smiled. 

"  Hot  heart,  we  won't  discuss  her,  please,"  he  said, 
in  a  controlled,  indulgent  voice.  "  She's  the  mother 
of  my  children!  " 

"  Yes,  we  will  discuss  her!  "  Lydia  retorted  stormily. 

But  suddenly,  dwelling  on  what  he  had  just  said, 
her  face  changed,  a  warm  glow  overspread  it.  She 
leaned  across  the  table.  "  Oh,  it  wasn't  a  virtue  in 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  155 

her  —  it  was  her  good  fortune,"  she  whispered,  "  to 
have  been  the  mother  of  your  children !  " 

"Lydial  "     He  laid  his  hand  over  hers,  and  they 
sat  silent  and  reconciled,  only  their  eyes  speaking. 


CHAPTER  XX 


IT  was  some  weeks  before  Churchwell  returned  to 
the  city.  Lydia  lived  on  his  letters  and  on  the 
treasure  of  her  secret  memories.  But  there  were  hours 
when  she  was  feverish  with  unrest,  and  she  was  often 
very  lonely,  though  she  still  spent  many  of  her  evenings 
with  Mrs.  Kearney,  and  with  McCarthy,  with  whom 
she  was  again  on  friendly,  but  now  cautious  terms. 

One  afternoon  when  she  came  in  from  shopping,  she 
stopped  at  Miss  Tompkins'  door.  She  wore  a  new 
spring  gown  of  brown  silk  and  a  fashionably  tailored 
jacket  of  light  cloth.  The  long  brown  plume  on  her 
hat  drooped  gracefully  against  her  light  hair.  Time 
was  on  her  hands,  and  now  that  she  was  able  to  pay 
her  board  promptly,  she  felt  less  fear  of  Miss  Tomp- 
kins,  and  less  active  disrelish  for  her.  When  she  oc- 
casionally contemplated  what  seemed  to  her  the  arid 
waste  of  Miss  Tompkins'  life,  she  even  pitied  her. 

She  heard  her  tipping  around  in  her  room,  and  she 
knocked  lightly.  "  May  I  come  in?  " 

Miss  Tompkins'  permission  rang  out  cheerfully. 

"  I  thought  I'd  just  pay  you  to-day,  Miss  Tompkins, 
as  my  board's  due  to-morrow,  and  I  thought  of  it." 
She  opened  her  purse  and  handed  Miss  Tompkins  the 
amount  of  her  weekly  board. 

156 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  157 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"  Oh,  a  minute."  She  seated  herself,  and  they  chat- 
ted about  the  fine  May  weather,  and  on  kindred  im- 
personal topics. 

"  It  must  take  wonderful  management,  Miss  Tomp- 
kins,  to  keep  a  house  always  running  as  smoothly  as 
yours  does,"  said  Lydia,  on  a  sudden  impulse,  and  with 
flattering,  almost  obsequious  warmth.  "  I've  had  a 
little  experience  in  housekeeping  myself.  I  kept  house 
for  my  father." 

"  Indeed?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Tompkins,  with  the  in- 
evitable rising  inflection  that  as  inevitably  dashed 
Lydia's  spirits.  "  Your  father  is  dead,  I  think  you 
said,  Miss  Lambright?  "  a  little  absently,  after  a  brief 
but  rather  awkward  silence. 

"  Yes." 

"And  your  mother?  " 

"  My  mother's  dead,  too." 

There  was  something  very  disquieting  in  the  intent- 
ness  of  Miss  Tompkins'  eyes.  Lydia  wished  she  had 
not  stopped  in  her  room.  She  got  up  from  her  chair, 
and  walked  over  to  a  painting  of  calla  lilies,  on  a  black 
ground,  that  hung  on  one  side  of  the  walnut  secretary. 
The  painting  was  execrably  executed,  but  in  an  effort 
to  disarm  Miss  Tompkins,  she  affected  to  admire 
it. 

"  It  was  your  —  cousin,  I  believe,  Mrs.  Kearney 
said,  who  was  here,  Miss  Lambright?  " 

"  Yes,  my  cousin." 

"  Oh." 

Lydia  turned  to  go.     "  I  have  a  letter  to  write  be- 


158  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

fore  dinner,"  she  remarked,  feeling  suddenly  limp,  but 
with  an  attempt  at  ease. 

Miss  Tompkins  cleared  her  throat  in  the  peculiarly 
delicate  but  significant  manner  she  had  of  clearing  it. 

"  By  the  way,  now  you're  here,  there's  a  little  matter 
I'd  like  to  speak  of,  Miss  Lambright." 

Lydia  tried  to  meet  her  eyes  without  flinching. 

"  In  the  future,  if  your  cousin's  in  the  city,  I  would 
rather,  when  you  went  out  with  him,  you  didn't  come 
in  so  late  at  night.  It  creates  comment  in  the  house." 

"  I  didn't  know  people  in  the  house  were  discussing 
me!  "  rejoined  Lydia,  with  a  show  of  spirit. 

"  Avoid  the  appearance  of  evil,  my  dear,  avoid  the 
appearance !  "  Miss  Tompkins  smiled  chillingly. 

All  at  once,  Lydia  perceived  that  Miss  Tompkins 
was  scrutinising  the  clothes  she  wore. 

After  her  first  momentary  reluctance  that  night  in 
the  carriage,  she  had  taken  money  from  Churchwell 
without  hesitation.  He  was  rich.  And  they  loved  each 
other.  His  thought  of  her  wants  and  pleasures,  and 
her  acceptance  of  his  right  to  provide  for  them,  seemed 
to  bind  them  closer.  Moreover,  all  her  life  she  had 
craved  beautiful  things,  and  though  occasionally  she 
felt  a  qualm  in  spending  the  large  sums  he  gave  her, 
not  because  he  had  given  them  to  her,  but  because  she 
was  unaccustomed  to  spending  such  large  sums,  yet,  on 
the  whole,  she  had  revelled  in  her  purchases.  With 
a  painful  shock,  all  the  delight  she  had  had  in  her  new 
finery  vanished.  She  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  it. 

She  wondered  whether  Mrs.  Kearney,  who  had 
teased  her  about  the  attentions  of  her  "  cousin  " —  a 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  159 

fiction  Churchwell  had  invented  for  her  —  suspected 
anything,  whether  McCarthy  did.  Had  Mrs.  Kearney 
been  a  trifle  less  cordial  lately? 

She  moved  through  the  dim  halls  and  looked  at  the 
closed  doors  which  shut  in  Miss  Tompkins'  other 
boarders,  and  a  fierce  antagonism  rose  in  her  against 
them  all. 

"  What  do  I  care  what  they  say?  "  she  said  to  her- 
self, shrugging  her  shoulders. 

But  she  did  care  —  tremendously. 

II 

Viola,  carrying  towels  to  the  rooms,  stopped  her. 
"  Your  washwoman's  waitin'  for  you." 

A  small,  pleasant-faced  woman  was  standing  outside 
her  door.  She  might  have  been  old  and  looked  young, 
or  young  and  looked  old.  She  wore  a  black  jacket, 
buttoned  so  tight  it  had  the  effect  of  cramping  her  nar- 
row chest.  A  black  sailor  hat  of  antiquated  shape 
sat  on  her  wavy  brown  hair,  which  was  parted  over 
her  forehead  and  twisted  into  a  small  tight  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  head. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  had  to  wait  for  me,"  said  Lydia, 
throwing  the  door  of  her  room  open.  "  I've  forgotten 
your  name  again." 

"  Stark,  Emma  Stark.  I've  had  everything  to  do 
myself,  or  I  would  have  been  here  on  the  regular  day. 
My  Old  —  that's  my  old  cousin  I  live  with  —  is  sick." 
She  laid  out  Lydia's  undergarments  and  blouses,  beau- 
tifully laundried. 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  Lydia  sympathetically. 


160  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

The  little  woman  smiled.     "  Oh,  I'm  not  so  tired!  " 

"  Are  you  German?  " 

"  Yes.  My  Old  brought  me  over  when  I  was  a 
baby.  She  wants  to  go  back  sometimes.  She's  wor- 
ried in  her  head,  since  she's  sick.  She  thinks  too  much 
about  the  Old  Country!  It  wouldn't  be  what  she 
thinks,  any  more,  if  she  went  back.  They're  dead,  the 
ones  she  knew." 

Lydia's  heart  went  out  to  her  with  secret  warmth. 
She  did  not  know  why  it  was  that  these  new  fears  that 
had  taken  possession  of  her  were  easier  to  endure  in 
the  presence  of  this  little  German  washerwoman  with 
her  patient  eyes  and  gentle  voice. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  was  late  afternoon.  Lydia  drew  a  chair  to  the 
window,  and  picked  up  a  book,  a  new  novel  she 
had  bought  in  the  morning.  Churchwell  was  coming 
—  only  one  more  day  now  I  Between  her  eyes  and  the 
pages  of  the  novel,  burning  images  interposed  them- 
selves. 

When  she  could  not  read,  she  tried  to  write  a  letter 
to  the  Pooles.  She  had  only  written  them  one  brief 
note  since  her  arrival  in  the  city  weeks  before;  and  she 
had  not  given  them  her  address.  She  found,  however, 
she  had  nothing  to  say  to  them  now  —  nothing  she  felt 
free  to  say. 

Through  the  open  window  she  looked  down  aim- 
lessly into  the  street.  Some  one  passed  carrying  an 
armful  of  lilacs.  The  sight  brought  to  her  mind  the 
cousin  of  her  little  washerwoman,  the  old  woman  who 
was  sick,  and  homesick  for  the  Old  Country,  and  sug- 
gested to  her  the  idea  of  carrying  her  some  flowers. 

She  went  out  and  bought  at  a  street  corner  a  big 
bunch  of  lilacs  and  some  roses,  and  started  with  them 
to  the  address  the  washerwoman  had  given  her. 

Everywhere  was  the  feel  and  sight  and  smell  of 
spring,  the  air  divinely  soft  and  warm.  Even  up 
through  the  hard,  dry  city  streets,  and  the  myriad 
throbs  of  the  city  life,  the  colossal  throb  of  spring  could 
foe  felt.  The  lilacs  and  roses  in  her  arm  smelled  to 

161 


162  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia  of  Kingsville.  In  a  few  hours  more  Church- 
well's  arms  would  be  about  her !  She  felt  them  I  She 
was  rapturously  happy!  Churchwell  was  coming! 

The  hurdy-gurdies  were  grinding  out,  "  Oh,  Bill 
Bailey,  Won't  You  Please  Come  Home!  "  The  town 
was  whistling,  u  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley,  Oh,  Mr.  Dooley!  " 
and  humming,  "  The  Good  Old  Summer  Time,  the 
Good  Old  Summer  Time !  "  But  everywhere  it  was 
bawling,  "  Oh,  Bill  Bailey,  Won't  You  Please  Come 
Home !  " 

Her  senses  quiveringly  alive,  it  seemed  to  Lydia  the 
very  globe  she  trod  was  spinning  through  joyous  space 
to  the  splendid  rollicking  irresponsibility  of  "  Oh,  Bill 
Bailey,  Won't  You  Please  Come  Home !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 


A  BIG,  friendly  woman  answered  Lydia's  ring  and 
directed  her  to  Emma  Stark's  flat.  A  scrubbed, 
scoured,  soapy  smell  pervaded  the  whole  house.  As 
Lydia  came  to  the  top  of  the  last  flight  of  stairs,  she 
looked  through  an  open  door,  and  saw  in  the  fading 
sunlight  Emma  seated  at  supper,  at  a  clean,  bare  table, 
opposite  an  old  woman.  Some  blue  and  white  cook- 
ing utensils  were  arranged  on  a  prim  shelf  edged  with 
scalloped  paper.  Metal  pots  hung  in  a  row  under- 
neath. A  clothes-horse  was  laden  with  freshly  ironed 
clothes.  On  the  wall,  beside  a  flaming  print  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  was  one  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  her  dolor- 
ous face  swathed  in  blue. 

Emma  rose,  a  shade  of  embarrassment  in  her  eyes, 
greeted  Lydia,  and  placed  a  chair  for  her. 

A  stew  of  meat  and  potatoes,  half  eaten,  was  on  the 
table,  and  the  remains  of  a  pitcher  of  beer,  but  the 
women  would  not  resume  their  meal,  insisting  they  had 
finished. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  the  flowers  Lydia  had 
brought  her  with  an  expression  of  grim  satisfaction  in 
her  cavernous  eyes.  She  spoke  with  a  strong  German 
accent,  and  had  little  to  say. 

Lydia  chatted  gaily.  She  liked  to  look  into  Emma 
Stark's  trustful  brown  eyes.  She  could  scarcely  keep 

163 


1 64  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

from  singing  Churchwell's  name  aloud  to  these  washer- 
women, it  was  singing  with  such  joyous  insistence  in 
her  heart.  She  wanted  to  share  her  rich,  pulsing  joy! 
She  wanted  to  bestow  on  these  poor  washerwomen 
some  of  her  own  largess.  In  a  flash,  she  saw  the 
whole  map  of  their  lives  —  the  washtub,  the  ironing 
board,  the  evening  pitcher  of  beer,  Mass. 

But  as  she  talked  with  them  longer  she  saw  that 
they  lacked  nothing  they  desired.  They  had  lived 
seventeen  years,  they  told  her,  in  these  same  two  rear 
rooms.  The  house  was  the  most  respectable  and  or- 
derly in  the  neighbourhood.  They  had  saved  money, 
owned  a  building  in  Hoboken.  Lydia  rejoiced  in  their 
content.  She  wanted  every  one  else  in  the  world  to  be 
as  happy  as  she  was  herself ! 

An  insurance  collector  interrupted  their  talk. 
Emma,  excusing  herself,  took  him  into  the  adjacent 
room  to  transact  her  business  with  him.  Alone  with 
her,  something  about  the  old  woman  made  Lydia  un- 
easy. She  wished  Emma  would  return.  She  was 
ready  to  leave. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  getting  well,"  she  said,  at  last,  to 
break  the  silence.  "  Your  cousin  was  so  anxious  about 
you." 

Glancing  cautiously  at  the  door  Emma  had  gone  out 
of,  the  old  woman  whispered  in  a  sly  guttural,  "  Ach, 
she  is  no  cousin !  She  was  my  love-child!  " 

Lydia  stared.  She  was  shocked  —  shocked  that  the 
old  woman  had  told  her  such  a  thing.  And  the  vul- 
garity of  the  word,  love-child  —  she  saw  nothing  of  its 
innate  beauty. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  165 

A  sensation  bordering  on  terror  crept  over  her. 
Former  vague  alarms  shaped  themselves  definitely  in 
her  mind.  What  if  it  were  true  ?  —  a  love-child  be- 
neath her  own  beating  heart ! 


II 

She  was  on  her  way  back  to  Miss  Tompkins'  when 
she  met  McCarthy  coming  from  dinner.  She  was  not 
hungry,  she  insisted,  and  much  preferred  this  fine  even- 
ing outside  to  dinner  in  Miss  Tompkins'  basement  or 
anywhere  else.  She  agreed  eagerly  to  his  suggestion 
that  they  take  a  walk.  The  truth  was  she  did  not 
wish  to  spend  the  evening  alone  with  her  thoughts. 

In  the  yellow  twilight,  they  walked  along  Riverside 
Drive,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  near  the  great  tomb. 
McCarthy  was  slightly  abashed  by  her  rapidly  chang- 
ing moods,  alternately  gay,  responsive,  absent,  and 
even  a  little  contemptuous  and  caustic.  But  while  she 
puzzled  and  teased  and  played  with  him,  every  now 
and  then  the  word  "  love-child  "  leaped  into  her  con- 
sciousness. 

"  Fine,  isn't  it?  "  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  river 
widening  out  to  the  Palisades. 

"  It  doesn't  appeal  to  me,"  she  answered  perversely, 
shaking  her  head. 

"What  —  that  view?     Why,  it's  famous!" 

"  I  reckon  so!  "  she  replied,  with  the  Kingsville  in- 
flection, laughing  a  little.  She  was  not  interested  in 
the  view,  or  in  McCarthy. 

"  So  you  say  that  isn't  beautiful?  "  he  motioned  with 


1 66  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

his  derby,  his  forehead  red  and  ridged,  dewed  with 
perspiration. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  it  isn't  beautiful,"  she  answered 
indifferently.  "  But  it's  not  a  view  that  moves  me." 
She  was  thinking  of  the  broad,  winding,  island-dotted 
river  she  loved.  She  saw  the  red  fields  and  the  rail 
fences  and  the  blue  wood-smoke  rising  from  the  darky 
cabins,  and  the  stately  mansions  along  the  River  Road. 
She  was  tired  of  shops  and  shop  windows.  She  hated 
the  city  parks.  She  did  not  like  this  Drive.  Oh,  if 
she  could  wake  in  the  morning  and  look  out  of  her 
window  and  see  those  blue  mountains  she  loved,  with 
the  faint  Smokies  beyond  them!  Her  own  prodigal, 
unkept,  picturesque  country! 

"  This  isn't  the  beauty  that  moves  me,"  she  repeated 
absently,  her  eyes  mechanically  following  the  river 
craft. 

He  edged  closer,  looking  at  her  with  an  ardour  that 
annoyed  and  oppressed  her. 

"  I  know  the  beauty  that  moves  me!  "  he  said,  low- 
ering his  voice,  and  gazing  caressingly  at  her  delicately 
tinted  face. 

in 

She  got  up  from  the  bench.  "  Let's  stroll  on,"  she 
said. 

The  dusk  was  deepening  and  lights  were  coming  out 
on  the  river  boats. 

They  stopped  at  a  little  enclosure  on  the  edge  of  the 
bluff,  leaned  on  the  iron  railing,  and  in  the  uncertain 
light  barely  made  out  the  quaint,  time-blurred  inscrip- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  167 

tion  on  the  monument  erected  to  the  memory  of  "  an 
amiable  child  " — 

".  .  .  Died  15  July,  1797,  in  the  5  year  of  his 
age " 

"Think  of  it!  "  exclaimed  Lydia,  "  he's  been  here 
all  alone  for  more  than  a  hundred  years!  "  She 
glanced  over  to  the  great  tomb,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Drive,  covering  the  heroic  ashes  that  had  lately 
been  brought  to  it.  "  Well,  the  amiable  child  will 
have  company  now,"  she  said  tenderly. 

"  Say,  Miss  Lambright,"  McCarthy  broke  in,  "  I 
want  to  explain  something  to  you.  You  know  that 
night — " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right.     Let's  go  on." 

"  No,  wait  a  minute !  "  He  caught  her  arm  just 
firmly  enough  to  make  her  pause.  "  I  want  you  to 
hear  what  I've  got  to  say !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  recall  that  night!  "  Lydia  looked  away 
from  him  toward  the  river  rolling  silently  below,  veiled 
in  gathering  darkness. 

But  he  persisted.  "  I'm  not  such  a  brute,  little  girl, 
as  you  think  I  am!  I  didn't  exactly  understand  what 
you  meant,  at  first  —  what  you  wanted." 

Lydia  winced. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  unvarnished  truth. 
There's  a  woman  who's  threatened  to  cut  up,  if  I  mar- 
ried. And  I  let  her  bluff  me.  But,  by  George,  I've 
come  to  my  senses!  "  He  wiped  his  forehead.  "  I'll 
be  plain  with  you  —  you  puzzled  me.  I  thought  you 
were  straight,  all  right,  till  that  night,  and  then  I  got  a 
different  idea,  from/  the  way  you  acted,  and  talked,  and 


1 68  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

I'll  confess  I  was  surprised,  then,  when  I  found  you 
thought  I  meant  marriage.  I'd  been  taken  with  you 
all  the  time,  but  I  thought  marrying  wasn't  in  my  line. 

"  But,  look  here,"  he  went  on  eagerly.  "  I'm  in 
love  with  you,  little  girl,  and  no  mistake,  and  I  want 
you  to  marry  me." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  McCarthy,  let's  just  be  good  friends," 
she  answered.  It  was  the  only  thing  that  came  to  her 
to  say.  She  let  him  hold  her  hand,  which  he  did  with- 
out presumptuous  pressure. 

"  Won't  you  consider  it?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  I  can't!     No,  no,  I  can't." 

"  Look  here,  I  don't  want  you  to  get  mad  at  me," 
he  said,  after  a  silence,  "  but  you're  too  nice  a  little 
girl  to  be  —  to  be  starting  on  the  road  you've  started 
on!" 

"What  road?"     She  drew  away  her  hand. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean !  I  think  a  lot  of  you, 
little  girl,  and  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  me. 
I  think  you're  all  right,  a  damned  sight  better,  and 
sweeter,  and  purer,  than  some  of  the  other  sort,  and  a 
man  can  trust  a  woman  like  that,  when  he  marries  her, 
quicker  than  he  can  the  other  sort." 

"  What  are  you  implying? "  she  interrupted  him 
angrily. 

"  Oh,  come,  I  wasn't  born  yesterday!  I've  seen  a 
few  things  and  know  a  few  things.  And  Mrs.  Atkin- 
son saw  you  coming  in  that  night — " 

She  stopped  him.  "  Mrs.  Atkinson  —  you  listen  to 
old  woman's  talk,  do  you?"  contemptuously,  walking 
away  from  the  little  grave  and  forcing  him  to  follow 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  169 

her.  She  refused  to  say  anything  else,  or  to  listen  to 
him.  She  boiled  with  hatred  of  every  one  at  Miss 
Tompkins',  of  Mrs.  Atkinson,  Mrs.  Kearney,  Mc- 
Carthy. 

IV 

Under  an  arc  light,  he  saw  that  her  face  was  ghostly 
white. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  little  girl,"  he  said, 
when  they  passed  again  into  shadow,  his  voice  serious 
and  sympathetic,  a  slight  hint  of  bitterness  in  it.  "  I 
want  you  to  know  I'm  your  friend.  Don't  despise  my 
friendship  too  much!  You  may  want  to  remember, 
some  day,  that  I'm  your  friend.  Maybe  I  can  be  of 
use  to  you  some  day." 

Lydia's  only  answer  was  a  toss  of  her  head.  At  the 
foot  of  Miss  Tompkins'  steps,  she  dismissed  him. 

She  heard  "Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Al- 
mighty! "  issuing  in  robust  staccato  from  the  parlour 
—  Miss  Tompkins  at  the  piano,  three  or  four  straight- 
backed  spinsters  grouped  around,  lifting  their  voices, 
and  Mrs.  Atkinson  and  the  other  clergyman's  widow, 
their  hands  folded  on  black-henrietta  laps,  listening  de- 
voutly. The  same  women  who  congregated  in  the 
parlour  for  a  little  while  every  evening. 

Lydia  was  guiltily  conscious  that  they  were  watching 
her  as  she  stopped  and  looked  at  the  mail  on  the  hat- 
rack  and  took  out  her  own  letter.  When  she  reached 
her  room,  she  sat  down  and  pressed  the  letter  to  her 
cheek,  holding  it  comfortingly  there,  for  a  long  time, 
before  she  opened  it.  All  night  long,  as  she  tossed 


170  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

on  her  bed,  half  sleeping  and  half  awake,  the  fervid 
love-words  in  the  letter  sounded  and  resounded  in  her 
ears,  like  the  treble  of  a  celestial  symphony.  But  al- 
ways below,  now  blending  with  the  love-words,  now 
sinisterly  distinct,  a  bass  rumbled  —  the  gossip  that 
was  going  on  about  her  in  the  boarding  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


IT  was  a  week  since  Churchwell's  arrival,  and  he  had 
given  his  days  to  business  and  his  evenings  to 
Lydia,  but  this  day  was  to  be  hers.  They  were  trav- 
elling along  the  north  shore  of  Long  Island. 

From  the  conversations  around  them  they  gathered 
that  they  had  happened  on  a  free  excursion,  arranged 
by  a  real  estate  company  to  give  prospective  purchasers 
an  opportunity  to  look  at  their  suburban  lots. 

Churchwell  had  risen,  shortly  after  their  start,  and 
presented  his  seat  to  a  woman.  He  was  again  seated 
by  Lydia,  but  she  had  detected  shadows  of  annoyance 
drifting  across  his  face,  not  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  seat, 
which  he  had  bestowed  with  unmistakable  graciousness, 
but  at  the  jostlings  of  under-mannered  persons  who  con- 
stantly moved,  unnecessarily,  he  appeared  to  think,  up 
and  down  the  aisle  where  he  was  standing. 

"  I'm  sorry  we  chose  this  train,"  said  Lydia.  She 
wanted  him  to  say  that  nothing  mattered,  if  only  they 
were  together. 

"  It's  all  right,  my  dear.  This  is  your  day,"  he 
smiled  generously. 

"How  dainty  you  are!"  He  looked  approvingly 
over  her  linen  costume,  finished  simply  at  the  neck  and 
wrists  with  bands  of  lace,  and  a  loose  cravat-like  black 

171 


172  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

bow  at  the  throat;  he  told  her  she  was  a  delectable 
contrast  to  this  earful  of  bouncing  women  bound  on 
their  real  estate  adventure;  and  he  assured  her  that 
her  hat,  with  its  wreath  of  daisies,  was  wickedly  be- 
coming. 

She  had  been  just  the  slightest  bit  disappointed  that 
he  had  not  commented  earlier  on  her  appearance.  And 
she  was  afraid  she  herself  had  been  a  little  tinged  in 
his  eyes  by  the  commonness  of  the  excursionists  because 
she  had  not  found  them  so  annoying  as  he  had.  She 
felt  a  sense  of  relief  when  they  reached  their  destina- 
tion and  escaped  the  envelopment  of  the  excursionists. 

II 

They  left  the  train,  and  had  the  road  to  themselves 
that  led  from  the  station.  At  a  turn,  a  long,  one-street 
village  came  into  view,  winding  down  before  them,  its 
quaint  old  houses  half  smothered  in  shrubs  and  vines. 

Lydia  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  Oh  —  how  did  you 
know  of  this  little  place?  " 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  it!  " 

"  I'm  so  happy,"  she  sighed,  "  so  happy  I  could 
die !  "  They  stood  in  the  shade  of  a  great  tree  whose 
branches  overhung  their  path,  and  she  looked  up  at 
him,  her  eyes  brimming  with  rapture.  It  mattered  so 
little  now,  what  the  boarders  at  Miss  Tompkins'  might 
be  saying! 

He  seized  her  hands,  and  held  them  an  instant 
against  his  breast,  his  eyes  avid  of  her  beauty,  fresh 
as  the  morning  light  that  bathed  it. 

"  If    this    were    the    last    day    of    my    life,"    she 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  173 

murmured,   "  I  should  know  I  had  lived,  anyway !  " 

It  seemed  hardly  possible  to  her  that  life  would 
allow  any  one  such  joy  long,  the  June  morning  alone 
with  one's  lover,  in  this  spot  charming  as  the  pictured 
page  out  of  a  story-book. 

"Smell  them!"  she  cried,  when  an  old-fashioned 
rose  bush  held  out  to  them  across  a  stone  wall  its 
gnarled,  close-wadded  blossoms,  the  dew  not  yet  gone 
from  them. 

They  wandered  on  and  on,  peeping  over  gates,  and 
through  branches  of  screening  bushes. 

Once,  seeing  no  eyes  on  them, —  the  houses  were 
wide-separated  by  their  gardens  —  they  joined  hands 
and  swung  along  the  village  street  like  a  pair  of  school 
children.  No  caper  could  be  too  young,  too  foolish ! 
'You're  not  sorry  I  asked  you  to  bring  me,  now, 
are  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  do  wish  there  wasn't  any  one  else  in  the  world 
but  just  you  and  me,"  she  said,  after  a  while,  a  thin 
shade  passing  over  her  mood,  a  trifling  sense  of  inse- 
curity. 

"  So  do  I." 

He  stopped,  a  sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes,  and  put  his 
hand  on  her  arm. 

"  I  have  half  a  notion  .  .  ."  he  said,  and  paused, 
"  half  a  notion  to  pick  you  up  in  my  arms  and  run  off 
with  you,  Lydia,  to  the  ends  of  the  earth!  " 

The  image  of  being  captured,  crushed  hotly,  carried 
fleet-footed  away,  primitive  woman  by  her  primitive 
man,  sent  tremors  of  delicious  excitement  through  her 
body. 


174  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

And  the  perception  that  he  might  really  be  consider- 
ing leaving  everything,  for  her,  woke  in  her  a  hope  of 
terrifying  joy. 

They  walked  slowly,  and  came  to  a  tiny  white  house, 
with  green  shutters,  hanging  on  the  flank  of  a  hill  that 
rose  behind  it.  In  the  grass,  and  along  the  paths,  peri- 
winkles trailed,  their  glossy  vines  starred  with  blue 
flowerets. 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  love  to  live  in  this  place !  " 
Lydia  rested  a  moment  on  the  gate. 

A  woman  in  a  sunbonnet  was  down  on  her  knees, 
working  among  the  flowers. 

"  We  were  just  stopping  to  admire,"  Churchwell  ex- 
plained. 

"Is  this  place  for  sale?"  Lydia  inquired. 

The  woman  stood  up,  and  came  nearer  them,  a  gar- 
den trowel  in  her  hand. 

"Why,  no,  I  guess  not,"  she  replied,  looking  sur- 
prised. "  We've  rented  it  from  Mr.  Green  forty-one 
years  last  month." 

Lydia  was  aware  of  a  blanched,  vacant  face  at  one 
of  the  sagging  windows. 

She  smiled,  and  moved  on. 

Churchwell  had  strolled  ahead.  "  Well,  did  you 
buy  it?  "  he  laughed,  as  she  overtook  him. 

"Don't  tease  me!  I've  built  a  romance!  What 
if  it  were  ours  ?  "  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  lightly, 
but  with  an  air  of  ownership.  "  '  Periwinkle  Cottage,' 
we'd  call  it,  and  I  would  work  in  the  garden  all  day, 
thinking  about  you,  and  then  every  night  you'd  come 
home  to  me !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  175 

He  pressed  the  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Suppose  I  took  you  in  the  house  .  .  .  when  you 
came  home  .  .  .  and  made  you  walk  very  softly  .  .  ." 
—  she  felt  her  face  colouring  — "  because  something  — 
ours  .  .  .  was  asleep  in  a  cradle !  " 

"  You  little  romancer!  "  he  laughed. 

An  expression  was  filtering  through  his  eyes  that  she 
could  not  fathom.  The  only  thing  she  understood 
clearly  was  that  he  had  not  responded  to  her  thrilling 
hint  as  she  had  expected. 

"  It's  almost  noon,"  he  remarked,  leisurely  regard- 
ing the  face  of  his  watch.  "  We'd  better  get  some- 
thing to  eat,"  he  added,  carelessly,  "  though  the  worst 
of  these  picturesque  little  places  is,  that  they  never  give 
you  a  decent  meal !  " 

III 

They  walked  back  in  the  direction  they  had  come 
from. 

How  mysteriously  he  had  receded  from  her!  She 
glanced  covertly  at  him.  How  had  this  gulf  suddenly 
opened  between  them,  united  as  they  were  by  the  radi- 
ant ties  of  their  secret  relation?  How  could  they  have 
become,  all  at  once,  so  separated,  so  casual? 

And  yet,  what  had  he  said,  what  had  he  done?  He 
was  looking  at  her  as  usual. 

It  was  what  he  had  not  looked,  what  he  had  not 
spoken ! 

They  repassed  "  Periwinkle  Cottage."  But  a  chill 
had  crept  into  the  noon  sunshine.  These  quiet  old 
houses  looked  lonely  now.  The  whole  village  im- 


1 76  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

pressed   her   now    as    forsaken,    brooding,    too    still. 

All  the  while,  she  was  praying  —  praying  coweringly 
—  that  he  had  not  understood  her  hint! 

"  Hungry?  "  he  asked,  as  they  approached  the  vil- 
lage hotel. 

"  Not  very."  The  brief  words  ached  in  her  throat 
as  she  spoke  them,  but  she  smiled  brightly.  He  should 
not  see  the  least  quiver !  She  had  not  been  more  reso- 
lutely proud  hiding  poverty  in  the  Kingsville  cottage 
from  prying  eyes,  than  covering  her  wound  now  from 
this  Kingsvillian ! 

"  I'm  starving!  "  he  laughed,  "  and  with  prospects 
not  the  fairest! 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  ought  not  to  want  any  dinner 
at  all!"  he  said,  mischievously  pinching  her  arm  as 
they  mounted  the  hotel  steps. 

"I  didn't!"  she  answered,  warming  a  little  under 
his  teasing  tenderness. 

"  Poor  little  Bleeding  Heart,  you'll  have  so  many 
disappointments  in  men!  They're  such  miserable 
brutes  at  best !  " 

They  followed  a  sad-miened  waiter  to  the  dining 
room.  Lydia  thought  of  the  Mansion  House  at  Pleas- 
antwater. 

The  wretched  dinner  set  before  them  and  the  stupid 
service  excited  active  irritation  in  Churchwell.  Lydia 
tried  to  placate  him;  the  quality  of  one  meal  did  not 
seem  a  very  vital  matter  to  her;  but  she  felt  responsi- 
ble for  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  the  dinner,  as  she  had 
for  the  vulgarity  of  the  excursionists  on  the  train. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  177 

He  continued  to  order  the  waiter  peremptorily  about, 
and  finally  exploded  with  disgust  at  the  flies  swarming 
over  the  table. 

"  Oh,  be  a  philosopher !  "  Lydia  rallied  him,  but  she 
laughed  nervously. 

"  Not  on  an  empty  stomach !  I  missed  breakfast  — 
catching  our  train." 

She  pushed  her  plate  away.  "  I'm  sorry,  absolutely 
sorry,  we  ever  came  at  all,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I 
thought  it  would  mean  so  much  to  have  a  day  in  the 
country  together  .  .  .  I've  longed  for  it  for  weeks. 
I  didn't  know  how  every  paltry  discomfort  — "  she 
hesitated  for  words  to  express  her  scorn,  "  would  upset 
you!" 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  while  they  regarded 
one  another  hostilely.  Then  he  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  my  Hot,  Hot  Heart,  how  I  do  love  you!  " 
he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "  Why,  Lydia, 
you're  delicious!  So  paltry  discomforts  upset  me,  do 
they?" 

She  had  brought  him  back  to  good-humour  again  — 
happiness  mounted  once  more  through  all  the  channels 
of  her  own  being. 

IV 

The  hours  of  afternoon  found  them  strolling  along 
the  Road  of  Enchantment,  as  they  named  it,  a  secluded 
stretch  of  road  they  came  upon  after  they  left  the  vil- 
lage, and  turned  finally  with  their  faces  toward  the 
Sound.  Once  they  met  some  children  trooping  home 


i78  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

from  school.  They  caught  sight  of  a  little  schoolhouse 
across  the  fields.  The  children  stared,  the  bolder  ones 
making  faces  at  them. 

Myriad  butterflies  led  them  along  their  way,  the 
gauzy  yellow  wings  always  ahead  of  them,  hovering 
tremulously  over  the  dust  of  the  road. 

Lydia  sniffed  the  fields  delightedly;  she  pulled 
grasses,  and  nibbled  their  tender  ends;  she  sucked 
honey  from  the  tiny  drinking-cups  in  the  clover  blos- 
soms. 

"  What  a  child  you  are  1  "  Churchwell  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  and  showered  kisses  on  her,  only  the  sun 
for  witness. 

Banks  of  dark  cloud  began  to  gather;  stretches  of 
the  road  lay  in  shadow. 

Lydia  saw  vague,  smouldering  trouble  in  Church- 
well's  eyes,  but  she  refused  to  heed  it. 

Sometimes  she  seized  his  face  in  her  hands,  and 
gazed  on  it  with  adoration.  His  flaws,  revealed  by 
the  morning,  only  served  to  enhance  his  masculine 
charm.  She  glanced  sideways  at  him,  while  they  rested 
by  the  roadside.  It  seemed  miraculous  to  her  that 
they  should  be  together,  here,  on  this  Road  of  En- 
chantment. 

The  wind  began  to  blow  more  chill,  and  gusts  brought 
scurrying  raindrops  into  their  faces.  The  odour  of 
fresh-moistened  earth  rose.  They  hurried  along 
toward  a  shelter  in  the  distance. 

When  they  came  to  it,  they  saw  it  was  a  dilapidated 
roadhouse,  with  an  air  of  depravity  about  it,  like  an 
aged,  abandoned  harlot.  Rotted  boards  led  from  it 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  179 

across  a  reedy  waste  to  some  half-sunken  boats,  and 
tattered  window-shades  swished  in  and  out  of  the  lower 
windows. 

"  Fe,  fi,  fo,  fum,  I  smell  the  blood  of  pirates !  " 
whispered  Lydia,  as  a  rush  of  wind  and  rain  drove 
them  on  the  porch. 

A  woman  made  them  grudgingly  free  of  the  house, 
and  they  went  inside  and  sat  down  at  a  smeary  table. 
On  Churchwell's  order,  a  heavy-footed  man  brought 
them  beer. 

Lydia  glanced  uneasily  at  the  couple  mumbling  in 
the  rear  of  the  room.  But  through  her  fear,  she  felt  a 
vague  pleasurable  sense  of  excitement  at  the  prospect 
of  peril  with  Churchwell's  protecting  arm  so  near. 

Having  done  their  duty  of  patronage,  they  escaped 
from  the  sour,  squalid  room,  found  a  bench  on  the 
porch  in  a  protected  spot,  and  seated  themselves  to 
await  the  end  of  the  storm. 

The  rattling  and  banging  of  loose  boards  put  them 
out  of  earshot  of  the  couple  inside,  and  Lydia  savoured 
their  isolation  cosily,  as  she  crept  close  to  Churchwell, 
and  looked  back  with  him  to  the  Road  of  Enchantment 
down  which  they  had  come. 

The  wind  finally  slackened,  but  not  the  rain,  and  in 
their  long  wait,  they  fell  to  talking  of  many  things. 

"  You  should  have  seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poole's  faces 
when  I  announced  to  them  I  should  hate  teaching 
school!  They  couldn't  imagine  any  one  not  wanting 
to  teach !  *  Such  a  nice,  lady-like  position  for  you, 
Lydia,'  Mrs.  Poole  said!  "  Lydia  laughed  lightly  in 
recollection. 


i8o  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Churchwell  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar,  which  he 
had  been  smoking  rapidly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Lydia?"  he  asked, 
looking  ahead  of  him,  at  the  fields  mistily  obscured  by 
the  rain. 

She  started.     What  did  he  ask  her  that  for?     He! 

"  Why,  I  don't  know.  I  hadn't  thought  much  about 
it,  lately  —  write,  I  guess.  I'm  going  to  try  again  to 
get  a  position  with  a  newspaper." 

"You  know  you've  got  to  appear  to  be  doing  — 
something,  Lydia !  "  He  laughed  constrainedly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quietly.  But  her  brain  was 
seething.  Again,  she  said  to  herself  she  must  make 
clear  to  him,  without  further  delay,  the  suspicion  she 
had,  which  she  had  only  hinted  to  him  before.  But 
just  as  when  they  had  lingered  along  the  Road  of  En- 
chantment, she  had  been  unwilling  to  jar  the  magic 
from  the  hour,  so  now  this  moment  seemed  inoppor- 
tune to  her  —  this  moment  when  she  was  struggling 
to  understand  him. 


She  took  off  her  hat,  and  pushed  back  the  moist 
ringlets  from  her  forehead. 

Churchwell  flung  his  cigar  into  the  drenched  weeds 

at  the  edge  of  the  porch.     "  Queer,"  he  said,  "  I  never 

noticed  before  how  much  you  look  like  your  mother!  " 

'  Tell  me  about  my  mother,"  she  said,  in  a  wistful 

voice. 

"  She  was  a  beautiful  woman  — " 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  interrupted  him,  a  little 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  181 

impatiently.  "  I  remember  how  she  looked.  I  mean, 
how  did  she  impress  you?  Wasn't  there  something  — 
different  about  her?  How  do  you  account  for 

it?" 

She  asked  the  questions  deliberately,  but  back  of  their 
deliberateness  there  was  something  hurrying  and  eager, 
and  she  felt  herself  trembling. 

"  I  used  to  think,  Lydia,  that  she  must  be  the  most 
attractive  and  unusual  person  in  the  whole  world,  when 
I  stopped  by  her  couch  to  speak  to  her,  that  year,  you 
remember,  your  father  tutored  me." 

In  a  rush  of  memory,  Lydia  saw  herself  a  little  girl, 
peeping  through  a  crack  in  the  door  at  the  handsome 
young  man  her  father  was  tutoring,  then  Miss  Barker 
dragging  her  away. 

'  Yes,  I  remember,  but  what  I  want  to  know  is  — 
what  was  the  mystery  about  my  father  and  mother?  " 
She  s.aw  Churchwell's  eyes  were  trying  to  escape  hers, 
but  she  kept  on,  "  I  know  she  took  some  drug,  mor- 
phine, or  something,  those  last  years.  I  suppose  every- 
body knew  that,  though,"  she  added,  a  little  bitterly. 

"  I  wouldn't  talk  about  it,  Lydia.  It  only  makes 
you  unhappy." 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  talk  about  it!  Everything's  such  a 
mystery  to  me !  But  I'm  sure  it  was  my  father's 
marriage  that  estranged  him  from  his  family  —  don't 
you  think  so?  " 

She  held  him  to  an  answer. 

"  I  think  perhaps  it  was." 

"But  why?  Why?  What  did  people  say ?"  She 
leaned  toward  him  supplicatingly.  "  Tell  me  this  — 


1 82  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

'do  you  think  my  mother  had  been  an  adventuress,  or 
something  like  that?  " 

"  That  was  the  gossip,  Lydia." 

They  were  silent.     Only  the  beat  of  the  rain. 

She  wanted  to  know  more.  But  her  courage  failed 
her. 

"  A  man  like  my  father,  who  loved  books  and  na- 
ture,"—  she  brought  herself  to  say — "it  seems  —  it 
seems  somehow  an  odd  marriage  for  him." 

"  Your  father  had  a  romantic  strain  in  him,  Lydia, 
an  adventurous  strain.  He  hadn't  always  been  so 
placid,  I  dare  say,  as  those  years  in  Kingsville.  I  can 
easily  see  how  he  might  have  thrown  up  everything  for 
a  woman,  a  woman  like  your  mother,  and,  dear,  I'm 
sure  of  one  thing  " —  he  threw  his  arm  around  her 
shoulders  to  draw  her  nearer  him  — "  I'm  sure,  even  if 
your  mother  had  a  past,  as  they  call  it,  still  she  was  a 
woman  of  rare  and  beautiful  nature." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  thought  that  about  her!  "  she 
broke  in  on  him,  her  voice  glowing  with  gratitude.  "  I 
think  that  about  her,  too !  And  do  you  know  —  if  I 
didn't  love  you  for  any  other  reason,  I'd  love  you  be- 
cause you  loved  my  father!  I  can  never  forget  that  of 
every  one  in  Kingsville  you  alone  noticed  that  he  was 
dying,  and  cared,  and  took  some  interest,  and  tried  to 
save  him  by  planning  about  the  operation  for  him !  " 

He  had  averted  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  can  never  forget  what  you  wanted  to  do  for 
him !  " 

He  turned  his  face  completely  away  from  her,  rest- 
ing it  on  his  clenched  hand. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  183 

"  Oh,  my  God,  what  would  your  father  think  of  what 
I've  done  for  him  now?  You  were  the  apple  of  his 
eye !  I  swear  by  his  sacred  memory,  Lydia,  that  I 
didn't  mean  to  ...  to  take  advantage  of  you,  that 
night  I  took  you  to  Mephisto's.  .  .  .  You  were  so 
sweet,  and  so  inexperienced  .  .  .  you  had  always  in- 
terested me  so  much  .  .  .  and  I  was  so  happy  to  help 
you  out  of  trouble  " —  his  broken  words  were  half 
whispered  — "  but  I  suppose  I  thought  most  of  the  de- 
lightful sensations  I  would  enjoy  myself,  taking  an 
innocent  girl  like  you,  in  the  seclusion  of  a  carriage,  to 
a  place  like  Mephisto's,  seeing  the  effect  produced  on 
you  by  the  place,  and  the  wine,  and  the  attentions.  .  .  . 
And  when  you  let  me  know  you  loved  me,  as  you  did, 
that  wine  was  too  heady  for  me. 

"  Damned  hound  that  I  am,"  he  ground  through  his 
teeth,  "  I  thought  I  must  have  you !  Now,  what  would 
your  father  say?  How  would  he  thank  me?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  say  you  took  advantage  of 
me!"  she  said,  proudly.  "You  didn't!  I  gave  my- 
self as  freely  to  you,  as  you  gave  yourself  to  me.  And 
if  my  father  knew  —  everything,  he  wouldn't  blame 
you,  or  me!  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV, 


ALL  the  way  home,  in  the  black  drive  from  the 
roadhouse  to  the  station,  sandwiched  in  on  the 
seat  between  Churchwell  and  the  driver,  and  after- 
wards on  the  train,  Lydia  in  her  thoughts  kept  repelling 
Churchwell's  suggestion  that  he  had  taken  advantage 
of  her  that  night  she  had  gone  with  him  first  to  Me- 
phisto's.  She  could  not  endure  the  idea  that  he  re- 
garded her  his  victim.  To  think  of  herself  that  way, 
as  one  despoiled,  was  to  rob  their  love  of  its  dignity 
and  glory.  But  she  was  too  weary  to  talk  to  him 
about  it. 

She  slept  all  night,  and  till  late  the  next  morning, 
dreamily  conscious  of  sometimes  moaning  in  her  sleep. 
A  knock  on  the  door  roused  her,  and  she  stretched  her 
tired  limbs,  not  quite  sure  the  knock  had  been  on  her 
own  door.  Viola  entered  and  held  out  a  letter,  and  a 
messenger's  book  for  her  to  sign.  She  saw  at  a  glance 
it  was  Churchwell's  writing  on  the  envelope.  Strange 
he  should  be  sending  her  a  letter,  a  thick  letter,  at  this 
hour! 

She  tore  open  the  envelope.  To  the  inside  sheet  of 
the  letter  were  pinned  five  one-hundred  dollar  bills. 

II 

"  My  little  Lydia  " —  she  read  — "  I  am  sitting 
down  at  dawn  to  write  you.  I  have  walked  the  streets 

184 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  185 

all  night,  thinking  what  was  best  to  do.  God  spare 
any  other  man  from  having  to  write  words  as  hard  to 
write,  as  these  I  must  say  to  you." 

She  wrapped  a  petticoat  around  her  shoulders,  over 
her  nightdress.  The  little  room  was  flooded  with  sun- 
shine, but  she  shook  with  cold. 

She  read  on.  "  It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  undo  the 
wrong  I  have  done  you,  but  no  matter  how  painful  to 
both  of  us,  I  feel  our  relation  must  end.  We  cannot, 
dearest  one,  be  to  each  other  what  we  wish  to  be. 
No  matter  what  insane  dreams  have  from  time  to 
time  beset  me,  I  know  that  I  cannot  ignore  respon- 
sibilities that  circumstances  had  already  imposed 
on  me  before  you  and  I  realised  our  love  for  each 
other. 

"  And  I  see  plainly,  now,  that  so  long  as  our  present 
relation  continues,  no  other  possibility  of  life  is  open 
to  you. 

"  I  want  to  eliminate  myself,  in  order  that  you  may 
find  a  happier,  safer  life  than  you  can  find  while  I  stand 
in  the  way.  Dear  fierce  little  heart,  you  will  think, 
perhaps,  that  with  the  closing  of  our  chapter  there  is 
no  further  happiness  for  you,  but  so  much  is  open  to 
you,  Lydia.  You  will  be  asked  in  marriage,  and  I 
want  to  live  to  see  you  surrounded  by  the  respect  and 
admiration  you  can  surely  command.  Sweet  as  our 
secret  hours  have  been,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  remain 
in  a  relationship  which  would  demand  more  and  more 
degraded  subterfuges  as  time  went  on.  It  would  mean 
that  you  would  deteriorate,  inevitably  —  the  most  hor- 
rible of  all  thoughts  to  me.  I  know  the  world  better 


1 86  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

than  you  know  it,  Lydia,  and  I  know  how  swiftly  and 
surely  such  deterioration  comes. 

"  Be  brave,  dear.  Don't  look  back  too  much. 
Look  to  the  future.  Write.  I  believe  you  can  do  so 
successfully;  you  have  ability,  and  you  will  find  content- 
ment for  the  present  in  the  serious  attempt  to  use  it. 

"  By  the  time  this  letter  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  on 
my  way  back  to  Kingsville,  but  I  am  enclosing  an 
amount  sufficient,  I  think,  to  take  care  of  you  till  you 
have  established  yourself  in  some  way,  but,  if  not,  com- 
municate with  me  at  my  office  address  in  Kingsville, 
marking  your  letter  '  Personal.'  I  feel  I  can  trust  you, 
absolutely,  Lydia,  not  to  try  to  reopen  communication 
with  me,  except  in  case  of  necessity,  and  that  you  will  do 
nothing  that  could  possibly  reach  the  ears  of  an  inno- 
cent woman,  and  bring  suffering  upon  her. 

"  And  now,  Lydia,  do  not  think  that  you  suffer  alone. 
I  am  being  punished  for  all  the  wrong  I  have  ever  done 
in  my  life,  in  the  torture  of  these  hours,  in  giving  you 
up,  my  own  sweet.  I  have  never  loved  any  other,  nor 
shall  I,  as  I  do  you.  Believe  that,  Lydia. 

"  And  there  may  be  some  other  life,  some  other 
world,  beyond  this  one,  where  I  may  call  my  child 
mine,  and  I  may  be  hers. 

"  RANSOM." 

in 

She  finished  reading  the  last  page  and  mechanically 
placed  it  under  the  others.  ..."  My  little  Lydia,  I 
am  sitting  down  at  dawn  .  .  ." 

She  saw  the  engraved  heading,  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  187 

She  saw  other  black  marks  on  white  paper.  She  kept 
reading  over  and  over,  "  My  little  Lydia,  I  am  sitting 
down  at  dawn  ..." 

No  phrase,  no  particular  part  of  the  body  of  the  let- 
ter she  had  just  read,  struck  her.  She  felt  neither 
agony  nor  resentment.  No  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 
Her  hands  that  held  the  letter  no  longer  shook  as  when 
she  had  at  first  handled  its  pages.  If  she  was  conscious 
of  anything  at  all,  it  was  of  numbness  gradually  steal- 
ing over  her.  There  was  something  dull  grey,  it 
might  be  gaseous,  it  might  be  liquid,  in  which  she  was 
beginning  to  whirl  with  deadened  senses.  Suddenly 
through  this  medium  she  saw  coming  directly  toward 
her  the  staring  eyes  of  a  dead  fish.  She  wanted  to 
scream,  but  she  did  not  scream.  She  realised,  after  the 
first  dazed  impression,  that  they  were  the  protuberant 
eyes  of  Miss  Tompkins,  that  Miss  Tompkins  had  en- 
tered the  room,  and  closed  the  door  cautiously  behind 
her. 

"  iWhy,  why,  I'm  afraid  you've  missed  your  break- 
fast this  morning,  Miss  Lambright!"  she  said  play- 
fully. 

Lydia  dropped  the  petticoat  from  her  shoulders, 
reached  for  a  silk  wrapper  and  slipped  her  arms  into  it. 
She  summoned  all  the  forces  of  her  being,  but  abor- 
tively, in  an  effort  to  answer  Miss  Tompkins'  simple 
pleasantry. 

"  I'll  sit  down  an  instant,  Miss  Lambright." 

With  a  vague  sense  of  shame,  Lydia  saw  Miss 
Tompkins  lift  her  corset  and  undergarments  and  place 
them  on  the  bed. 


i88  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  I  have  an  applicant  for  this  room,  Miss  Lambright 
—  who'll  be  permanent.  You  know  you've  never  as- 
sured me  positively  you  would  be."  She  smiled,  feel- 
ing her  way  along  carefully. 

Lydia's  lips  tried  to  move. 

"  If  you  wouldn't  mind  my  telling  you,  my  dear,  for 
your  own  good,  there  have  been  so  many  unpleasant 
things  reported  to  me,  that  I  think  I  shall  have  to  ask 
you  to  find  another  boarding  place."  Her  head  was 
shaking  like  palsy.  "  I  have  to  consider  the  feelings 
of  people  in  my  house  who  have  made  their  home  with 
me  for  years." 

"  I'll  find  another  place  to-day,  Miss  Tompkins." 

"  Oh,  your  week's  not  up  till  Tuesday.  I  don't  want 
to  hurry  you !  " 

"  I  want  to  hurry,  though,"  replied  Lydia,  dully. 

"You're  not  sick,  are  you,  Miss  Lambright?" 

"  No." 

As  Miss  Tompkins,  flushing  and  confused,  backed 
out  of  the  room,  Lydia  was  sensible  of  a  sort  of  grati- 
tude to  her.  Miss  Tompkins  had  supplied  the  thing 
to  stir  her  out  of  this  strange  stupor. 

"  Well,  I've  lived,  anyway!  "  she  said  to  herself  in 
a  ghostly  whisper,  staring  down  at  the  yellow  bills, 
which  had  fallen  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


LYDIA  began  dressing;  she  got  into  her  clothes 
rapidly.  A  tottering  energy  had  taken  possession 
of  her.  She  left  the  house,  bought  a  morning  paper 
at  a  news-stand  and  walked  on  with  it  to  a  basement 
tearoom,  where  she  ordered  coffee  and  rolls,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  look  over  advertisements  of  furnished  rooms 
to  let.  By  noon,  she  had  rented  a  room,  and  paid  for 
it  a  week  in  advance.  No  references  were  asked.  Be- 
fore evening  her  trunk  had  gone  to  her  new  room. 

The  gong  was  sounding  for  dinner,  as  she  came 
down  the  last  flight  of  stairs,  to  leave  the  house  her- 
self. . 

Miss  Tompkins,  who  had  evidently  been  listening 
for  her,  hastened  into  the  hall.  "  Oh,  Miss  Lam- 
bright,  you  aren't  going  to  go  without  saying  good- 
bye? "  she  called. 

Lydia  turned  partly  around.  Her  little  travelling- 
bag  in  her  hand,  she  was  opening  the  front  door.  She 
was  dressed  exactly  as  she  had  been  the  day  before,  but 
she  no  longer  looked  as  when  she  had  followed  the  but- 
terflies down  the  Road  of  Enchantment.  Her  clothes 
were  slightly  awry  and  untidy.  She  was  wilted. 

"  I  hope  you'll  take  care  of  yourself,  Miss  Lam- 
bright.  You're  not  looking  well  I"  Miss  Tompkins 
looked  solicitously  into  her  pale,  strained  face. 

189 


i9o  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia's  ears  caught  the  genteel  rustling  of  the 
boarders  beginning  to  descend  to  dinner  from  the  upper 
floors,  and  at  the  sound  a  more  definite  emotion  shaped 
in  her  than  any  she  had  known  during  the  day.  She 
wanted  to  get  out  of  the  house  quickly,  before  any  of 
the  boarders  could  reach  the  parlour  floor. 

Miss  Tompkins  had  put  out  her  hand.  "  I'm  sure  I 
wish  the  best  in  the  world  for  you,  my  dear." 

"  I  don't  want  to  shake  hands  with  you,  Miss  Tomp- 
kins. There  isn't  any  feeling  of  friendliness  between 
us.  I  don't  feel  any,  I'm  sure,  and  I  don't  see  any 
need  of  demonstration."  Lydia's  voice  quivered. 
"  There's  my  latch-key."  She  pointed  to  the  hatrack, 
opened  the  door  and  went  out. 

When  she  reached  the  street  she  gave  a  quick  back- 
ward glance  at  the  house.  Two  black  faces  at  the 
windows  of  the  basement  dining  room  were  gaping  at 
her.  Even  Viola  and  Jenny  knew  I  "  Turned  out, 
that's  what  I  am,  of  course !  " 

Before  she  reached  the  corner,  she  turned  back  once 
again  for  a  last  look  at  the  house  that  had  cast  her  off 
in  disgrace.  A  faint  feeling  of  regret  stirred  in  her, 
not  at  leaving  Miss  Tompkins,  or  the  boarders,  but  at 
breaking  away  from  the  house  itself.  "  I'll  never  be 
in  that  house  again !  "  she  thought.  "  In  that  vestibule 
I  stood,  so  frightened,  that  night  I  got  here !  That's 
where  I  kissed  Ransom  Churchwell  good-night!  On 
the  hatrack  in  that  hall  is  where  I  found  his  letters  1  " 

At  the  corner  she  stopped  to  wait  for  a  street  car. 
There  was  a  blockade,  and  the  cars  were  long  in  com- 
ing. As  she  stood  waiting,  she  kept  her  eyes  in  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  191 

direction  from  which  McCarthy  usually  approached 
when  he  came  to  dinner.  She  had  no  idea  what  she 
would  say  to  him;  but  the  forlorn  hope  persisted  that 
he  would  come  in  sight  before  her  car  came.  She 
craved  the  very  real  and  fortifying  sound  of  his  cheery 
greeting.  She  allowed  several  cars  to  slip  by,  but,  at 
last,  too  tired  to  stand  longer,  she  lifted  her  cheap  little 
bag,  the  same  she  had  started  with  proudly  from  Kings- 
ville,  as  general  agent,  and  boarded  a  car,  changing, 
when  she  had  gone  some  distance,  to  another  car  that 
took  her  cross-town  to  her  new  room. 

II 

On  the  street  floor  was  the  grocery  shop  of  Augustus 
Rathemacher.  The  floors  above  were  all  rented  by 
Rathemacher,  who  sublet  the  rooms  furnished,  except 
those  he  and  his  wife  occupied.  Lydia  had  rented  a 
small  front  room  on  the  second  floor,  the  same  floor  on 
which  were  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  Rathemachers 
themselves. 

In  this  room  she  lived  for  many  weeks  following, 
generally  going  for  her  dinner  to  the  table  d'hote  of 
the  cheap  Italian  hotel  which  Rathemacher's  adjoined, 
sometimes  to  one  of  the  cheap  restaurants  nearby. 
She  depended  on  the  delicatessen  shops  with  which  the 
neighbourhood  abounded  for  her  other  meals,  eating 
them  with  languid  interest  in  the  solitude  of  her  room. 

She  discovered  a  branch  of  the  Public  Library  within 
walking  distance,  and  with  the  assistance  of  Rathe- 
macher's signature,  secured  a  card  from  it,  which  en- 
abled her  to  draw  books.  She  tried  poetry  first,  bring- 


i92  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ing  back  to  her  room  volumes  of  the  poets  she  had 
known  and  loved  best.  But  she  found  that  the  poems 
which  had  given  her  such  joy,  lulled  her,  or  thrilled  her, 
in  by-gone  hours,  were  now,  in  this  hour  she  needed 
them  most,  only  words  on  paper  to  her.  She  tried 
fiction.  But  after  getting  through  a  few  pages  of  a 
novel,  she  would  close  the  book,  never  to  look  in  it 
again. 

Through  long  summer  days,  and  intolerably  long 
hours  of  the  close  summer  evenings,  she  would  sit,  with 
a  sort  of  abject  resignation,  looking  out  of  her  window. 
Opposite  was  a  clock  repair  shop,  a  dusty,  disorderly 
place,  with  unwashed  windows.  Above  it  were 
lodgers,  as  in  her  own  building,  only  less  respectable 
than  Rathemacher's  lodgers;  below  it,  was  an  antique 
shop,  whose  bell  jingled  every  time  its  door  was 
opened;  and  easily  within  range  of  her  eye  were 
bakers',  grocers',  barbers'  shops;  in  the  little  holes 
under  them,  tailors,  toiling  early  and  late,  Italian  cob- 
blers, and  the  dispirited  entrance  to  "  St.  Andrew's 
Penny  Meals  for  Poor  Men  " —  into  which  she  never 
saw  any  poor  or  other  man  whatever  enter  for  his  penny 
meal. 

But  as  she  had  looked  at  the  books,  scarcely  seeing 
them,  so,  though  her  eyes  followed  the  busy  movements 
in  the  shops  opposite,  and  in  the  narrow  street  below, 
she  saw  little  except  that  dim,  troubled  region  she  knew 
she  was  soon  to  enter. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  193 

in 

She  had  never  read  Churchwell's  letter  after  the  first 
time.  She  had  tied  it  in  a  package  with  his  other  let- 
ters. But  as  the  days  went  on,  gradually  its  phrases 
came  back  to  her,  syllable  by  syllable,  marshalling  them- 
selves in  her  mind  precisely  as  they  stood  in  the  letter. 

Why  had  he  broken  the  tie?  Why  had  he?  He 
had  not  lost  his  love  for  her  —  she  could  not  believe 
that.  Nor  could  she  believe  —  how  she  wished  that 
she  could!  —  that  he  had  broken  it  for  the  reasons  he 
had  given  her  —  solely  out  of  consideration  for  her 
welfare. 

Had  money  been  the  reason?  Had  he  felt,  after 
his  first  squandering,  that  she  was  costing  too  much? 
She  remembered  one  day  he  had  remarked,  handing 
her  money  as  he  did  so,  "  You're  a  royal  little  spend- 
thrift, Lydia!"  She  remembered  her  slight  uneasi- 
ness, her  attempt  to  give  back  part  of  the  money,  his 
insistence  he  was  only  jesting  —  insistence  she  should 
keep  it  all,  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  there  was  that  little 
anxiety  she  remembered,  her  fear  that  he  had  felt  she 
was  becoming  too  quickly  habituated  to  spending. 
Perhaps  he  had  not,  himself,  so  much  to  spend  as  peo- 
ple in  Kingsville  had  always  thought;  he  had  dropped 
a  hint  of  business  worries. 

Well,  if  it  had  been  money,  she  forgave  him. 

Relentlessly,  she  went  over  and  over  the  hours  she 
had  known  with  him,  torturing  herself  with  every  sweet 
memory  of  the  past,  every  bitter  realisation  of  the 
present. 


i94  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

IV 

Various  moods  bore  down  on  her  —  sometimes  one 
of  mingled  scorn  and  despair  when  she  said  to  herself, 
"  And  he  held  out  the  hope  that  there  was  another 
world  —  as  if  I  believed  such  things !  "  She  would 
feed  no  hopes  on  such  sop  —  she  was  born  of  too  late 
a  generation.  Though  often,  in  the  twilight,  when  she 
sat  with  her  white  face  in  her  hands,  looking  down 
from  her  window  into  the  street  below,  a  close-welded, 
whispering  pair  of  lovers  sauntering  by,  or  a  father 
with  his  little  girl  holding  tight  to  his  hand,  brought 
to  her  such  a  crushing  sense  of  her  own  loneliness,  that 
there  would  come  creeping  over  her  a  yearning  to  be- 
lieve, as  the  ignorant  believed,  in  a  definite  u  life  to 
come,"  where  in  a  real  heaven  she  might  relive  heav- 
enly hours  she  had  known  on  earth,  where  again  she 
might  hold  to  the  big,  steadfast  hand  of  her  father,  her 
own  so  cold  with  fear  now. 


Sometimes  sick  in  body,  and  always  in  mind,  there 
were  hours  when  she  writhed  under  the  memory  of  the 
warning  Churchwell  had  given  her  not  to  bring  suffer- 
ing to  an  "  innocent  "  woman.  She  felt  he  had  con- 
trasted them  —  his  wife  and  herself !  She  pictured  the 
"  innocent "  woman  in  her  beautiful  surrounding  in 
Kingsville  .  .  .  he  guarding  her,  with  all  his  soft  de- 
votion, and  it  seemed  to  her  her  heart  would  burst. 

She  would  wring  her  hands,  and  whisper  to  herself 
with  trembling,  contemptuous  lips  — "  I'll  not  harm 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  195 

her!  I'll  not  embarrass  him!  He  needn't  have 
warned  me!  Oh,  I  won't  lift  a  finger  to  harm  his 
lamb!" 

For  while  that  June  morning  when  he  had  spoken  of 
running  off  with  her  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  she  had 
accepted  the  idea  with  mad  joy;  yet  now,  some  vague 
but  still  untarnished  ideal  of  conduct  prevented  her 
wishing  to  unsettle  the  peace  of  that  other  woman. 
Despite  her  anger,  her  questionings,  her  piercing  jeal- 
ousy, she  accepted  her  portion. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


LYDIA  welcomed  the  arrival  of  autumn.  The 
cool  days  permitted  her  to  wear  heavier  clothes 
that  better  disguised  her  figure.  She  had  put  away 
the  handsome  gowns  and  hats  bought  with  Church- 
well's  money  in  the  delirious  spring  days  when  she  was 
decking  herself  for  his  eyes,  and  in  order  to  attract  as 
little  attention  as  possible  wore  again  the  hat  she  had 
worn  in  Kingsville  and  the  simple  brown  suit  she  had 
bought  at  Maxfield's  —  very  fine  it  had  seemed  to  her 
then,  and  very  plain  it  looked  to  her  now.  Unfortu- 
nately, the  charm  of  her  face,  at  once  delicate  and 
vivid,  had  become  more  and  more  of  the  kind  to  pluck 
by  the  sleeve  the  passer-by. 

She  was  returning  to  her  room  one  afternoon  carry- 
ing a  package  she  had  refused  to  have  sent  home  for 
her;  the  car  was  crowded,  and  she  stood  in  the  aisle, 
holding  to  a  strap  for  support.  She  might  have  taken 
a  kind  of  pitiful  comfort  from  the  package  under  her 
arm,  except  that  she  felt  that  every  one  knew  her  secret, 
that  every  sprawling  woman,  every  squirming  child, 
every  staring  man  in  the  whole  long,  crowded  Sixth 
Avenue  car  could  look  right  through  the  brown  paper 
wrapping  and  see  the  little  slips  and  socks  and  shirts. 

"  I  can  never  be  considered  respectable  again  as  long 

196 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  197 

as  I  live,"  she  thought,  and  with  a  poignancy  amount- 
ing to  physical  pain  she  felt  that  every  one  else  in  the 
car  was  thinking  that,  too. 

She  was  so  conscious  of  many  eyes,  that  she  did  not 
notice  one  particular  pair  of  eyes  that  were  busy  about 
her,  till  a  faint  pressure  of  other  knees  against  her  own 
made  her  look  down.  A  young  Jew  was  gazing  up  at 
her.  She  recoiled  from  his  bold  and  sensual  eyes,  but 
not  before  she  had  seen  them,  with  unmistakable  sig- 
nificance, run  from  her  face  to  her  waist  and  back  again. 
With  an  instinctive  movement  of  concealment,  she  let 
go  the  strap,  and  pulled  down  her  jacket.  Swiftly  as 
she  had  done  it,  she  realised  she  had  hopelessly  con- 
victed herself,  and  the  flush  on  her  face  deepened  to 
scarlet. 

The  young  man  rose,  and  fearing  she  would  attract 
more  attention  in  refusing  than  in  accepting  it,  she 
dropped  into  the  seat  he  offered  her.  She  tried  to  look 
unconscious,  but  she  felt  his  eyes  still  roving  over  her, 
wherever  she  turned  she  felt  other  eyes  watching  her, 
and,  finally,  unable  to  endure  it  longer,  she  left  the  car. 

It  was  a  perfect  autumn  afternoon,  following  a  crisp, 
frosty  morning,  and  as  she  walked  along,  her  fate 
seemed  to  her  infinitely  more  cruel  than  it  had  ever 
seemed  before.  She  did  not  greatly  rebel  against  the 
statutes  of  society,  or  very  specifically  consider  herself 
a  martyr  to  them,  or  believe  really  that  things  would 
ever  be  very  different  —  woman,  alone,  would  always 
bear  the  brand  for  sins  against  those  statutes.  It  was 
only  that  she  saw  a  beautiful  world,  brimming  with  all 
those  possibilities  of  joy  in  life  she  had  so  hungered 


i98  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

and  thirsted  for,  had  just  tasted,  and  now  again  must 
evermore  hunger  and  thirst  for. 

The  gracious,  tempered  October  sunshine  threw  a 
faint  glamour  even  over  this  prosaic  thoroughfare  of 
deafening  elevated  and  clanging  surface  car,  and  made 
her  heartsick  for  her  country,  steeped  now,  as  she  knew 
so  well,  in  the  languorous,  hazy,  peaceful  loveliness  of 
a  Southern  autumn. 

When  she  opened  the  street  door,  a  strong  and  agree- 
able odour  met  her,  of  vinegar  and  spices  heating  to- 
gether, and  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  saw  that  the 
door  of  Rathemacher's  little  kitchen  was  wide  open, 
and  Mrs.  Rathemacher  in  a  light  percale  wrapper  was 
bending  over  a  kettle  on  her  gas  range.  For  some 
time  past,  Lydia  had  tried  to  avoid  her.  She  had 
begun  to  suspect  that  Mrs.  Rathemacher  was  making 
occasions  to  talk  to  her  and  to  ask  her  questions. 

Mrs.  Rathemacher  turned  her  warm  face  from  the 
range,  and  came  to  the  door,  holding  a  plump  hand 
under  the  bowl  of  the  big  wooden  spoon  with  which 
she  had  been  stirring.  "  Making  tomato  catsup,"  she 
explained.  "  Gus  had  that  many  tomatoes  on  hand, 
they  was  spoiling  faster  than  he  could  sell  'em.  A 
body  has  to  do  all  kinds  of  ways,  to  make  the  grocery 
business  pay." 

"  It  smells  good,"  Lydia  smiled. 
Mrs.    Rathemacher    bent    over    her    kettle    again. 
"  Miss  Lambright,  I  got  a  couple  wants  your   room 
permanent." 

'  You  can  have  it  to-morrow.     I'm  going  to  Cali- 
fornia." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  199 

"  California?     I  got  a  cousin  there." 

Lydia  made  no  answer.  She  wondered  why  she  had 
said  California.  She  saw  Mrs.  Rathemacher  was 
through  with  her,  and  she  went  to  her  room,  and  locked 
herself  in. 

She  put  her  package  in  a  drawer,  and  tilting  the 
mirror  in  the  bureau  as  far  back  as  she  could,  stood  in 
front  of  it  and  turned  anxiously  from  side  to  side. 

For  a  brief  moment,  she  considered  going  back  to 
the  kitchen  and  throwing  herself  on  Mrs.  Rathe- 
macher's  mercy,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  remain.  In 
this  smell  of  boiling  vinegar  and  spices,  there  was  a 
suggestion  of  something  permanent  and  homelike, 
which  she  would  be  severing  herself  from  forever  when 
she  left  Rathemacher's.  A  darting  vision  showed  her 
herself  agonised  and  alone  in  the  hour  of  childbirth. 

II 

It  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  represented  her- 
self from  the  start  as  a  married  woman.  She  could 
have  said  she  had  been  deserted  by  her  husband  — 
hereafter  she  must  call  herself  Mrs.  Lambright.  She 
sat  down,  without  taking  off  her  hat  or  jacket  or  even 
her  gloves,  and  began  planning  how  to  explain  herself 
in  seeking  another  room.  She  sat  for  a  long  time, 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking. 

An  hour  passed,  another  hour.  .  .  .  She  unlocked 
her  trunk  and  delving  into  a  small  compartment  drew 
from  it  a  little  chamois-skin  bag  tied  with  a  faded  rib- 
bon, emptied  out  the  trinkets  it  contained,  and  picked 
out  from  them  her  mother's  wedding-ring.  Pulling 


200  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

off  her  glove,  she  worked  the  ring  on  her  own  wed- 
ding-finger. It  was  too  worn  and  old-fashioned;  she 
must  have  a  newer  looking  ring.  She  carried  it  to  the 
window,  and  held  it  so  she  could  read  the  half-effaced 
word  engraved  inside  that  had  always  puzzled  her  — 
Fulfilment. 

Fulfilment!  What  had  been  fulfilled?  Ah,  they 
too,  her  father  and  mother,  had  known  life !  And  she 
felt  as  if  something  were  beating  all  about  her  in  the 
air  of  the  room  —  a  peculiar,  misty,  almost  terrifying 
sense  of  their  near,  impalpable  presences. 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  neither  weeping  nor 
trembling,  but  holding  awed  communion. 

"  Don't  leave  me !  "  she  called  aloud,  wistfully. 

ill 

After  a  time,  she  left  the  room,  locking  the  door 
behind  her,  and  slipped  through  the  hall  and  down  the 
stairs  quietly.  She  remembered  a  little  shop  on  Third 
Avenue,  below  Miss  Tompkins',  where  cheap  jewelry 
was  sold,  and  she  decided  to  buy  a  ring  there  rather 
than  at  the  shop  in  her  present  neighbourhood,  where 
perhaps  the  clerks  had  begun  to  notice  her. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  pass  Miss  Tompkins';  but 
something  impelled  her  to  do  so.  She  had  not  been 
in  the  locality  for  months,  and  it  was  like  entering  a 
strange  city  now.  When  she  came  to  the  house,  she 
glanced  up  at  it  furtively.  Suddenly,  there  was  a 
slight  twitching  movement  of  the  lace  curtains  at  one 
of  the  parlour  windows.  As  she  hurried  on  down  the 
hill,  she  remembered  McCarthy's  calling  Miss  Tomp- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  201 

kins'  solemn  parlour  the  "  mortuary  chapel."  If  she 
had  only  married  McCarthy  as  he  had  asked  her  to 
that  evening  on  the  Drive.  It  would  have  been  Para- 
dise compared  to  the  present !  And  then  came  rushing 
over  her  consciousness  the  realisation  that  even  to  save 
herself  from  what  lay  before  her,  she  could  not  have 
been  so  base. 

She  was  icy  cold  and  shaking  when  she  stepped  into 
the  shop  and  asked  to  look  at  rings.  The  clerk  was  a 
dull-looking  young  man,  for  which  she  was  thankful. 
Most  of  the  rings  in  the  tray  he  set  out  on  the  counter 
had  small,  cheap  sets  in  them.  Some  were  chased. 
None  of  them  were  the  kind  she  wanted.  He  pulled 
out  one  after  another,  pricing  them  to  her  from  their 
tags. 

"  I  want  to  see  wedding-rings,  please,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice. 

His  finger,  running  over  the  rings,  halted,  but  he 
did  not  look  up. 

"  It's  for  a  friend,"  she  murmured,  and  then,  realis- 
ing she  had  said  a  silly  thing,  that  it  was  silly  to  have 
said  anything,  she  straightened  herself,  and  threw  back 
her  head  with  an  assumption  of  hauteur. 

The  clerk  set  another  tray  on  the  counter  without 
saying  anything,  and  she  singled  out  one  of  the  rings, 
without  examining  any  of  them,  and  quickly  opened  her 
purse  to  pay  for  it. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  try  it  on?  They're  all  sizes," 
he  ventured. 

She  stripped  the  glove  from  her  left  hand. 

All  at  once,  she  was  aware  that  an  old  man,  with  a 


202  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

magnifying  glass  screwed  in  his  eye,  had  turned  from 
the  watch  he  had  been  examining  and  was  looking  at 
her,  and  when  the  ring  would  not  pass  beyond  the  sec- 
ond joint  of  her  puffed  finger,  a  wave  of  heat  passed 
over  her  face. 

A  ring  was  found  that  would  fit,  and  she  left  the 
shop  precipitately.  Outside,  she  slipped  it  on,  throw- 
ing away  the  little  box  that  had  held  it.  A  sob  caught 
her,  as  she  felt  the  ring  on  her  finger.  This  was  her 
wedding-march  —  no  swelling  music,  clouds  of  white, 
no  trumpery  dearly-sweet  to  woman-hearts,  no  bride- 
groom whispering  in  her  ear  —  a  little  figure,  losing 
only  too  plainly  its  virgin  lines,  slinking  along  disgraced 
and  alone  in  the  autumn  twilight. 

IV 

She  kept  thinking  of  the  Pooles.  They  were  al- 
ways in  her  mind,  and  had  been  for  a  long  time.  She 
did  not  want  them  to  find  out  what  had  become  of  her. 
She  thought  she  would  write  them  that  she  was  mar- 
ried, and  was  going  to  California  to  live.  She  would 
tell  them  that  whether  in  the  years  to  come  they  heard 
from  her  or  not,  she  would  always  love  them.  All  the 
fussy  things  about  them  that  had  irritated  her,  when 
she  was  with  them,  had  faded  away;  only  their  kind- 
nesses remained  in  her  memory.  How  ungrateful  they 
would  always  think  her!  They  would  never  under- 
stand, because  they  would  never  know!  And  if  they 
knew,  they  could  never  understand,  because  they  were 
the  Pooles. 

When  she  got  back  to  her  room,  she  sat  down  in  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  203 

mellow  twilight.  She  had  eaten  no  dinner  and  she  did 
not  want  any.  She  wanted  to  think  about  her  country. 
This  wedding-ring  she  had  bought  and  put  on  her  finger 
made  her  think  of  it  in  a  way  she  had  not  before.  She 
was  exiled  from  it  now  forever,  but  she  could  still 
dream  of  it.  She  was  a  little  girl  again,  trudging 
along  a  road  in  the  mountain  country  near  Kingsville. 
It  was  a  dull  autumn  morning,  and  she  and  her  father 
were  watching  the  slow,  pearly  mists  rise  from  the  val- 
leys. From  the  wet  woods  came  the  mournful  tinkle 
of  cow-bells,  and  a  lean  "  poor-white  "  boy,  tattered 
and  melancholy,  was  driving  cows  up  the  red  moun- 
tain road  ahead  of  them.  Wild  morning-glories  over- 
ran the  rail  fences  and  the  neglected,  rain-drenched 
gardens.  Then  the  sun,  flashing  out,  touching  it  all 
with  splendour!  .  .  .  Her  country!  Her  face  went 
down  on  her  hands,  her  whole  body  heaved.  ...  If 
she  could  only  be  there  again  ...  if  she  could  only 
feel  her  father's  hand  once  more  on  her  hair. 

Kingsville,  steeped  in  its  warm,  pensive  October 
haze,  rose  softly  before  her;  the  little  dry  click  of  in- 
sects everywhere  filling  the  air;  the  snail's  slimy  iri- 
descent trail  along  the  bricks  of  the  old  walks;  honey- 
suckle clambering  over  the  walls,  and  roses  still 
blooming  in  all  the  gardens. 

"  And  I  can  never,  never,  go  back  now !  I  can  never 
see  Kingsville  again!  "  Yearning,  hopeless  sobs  shook 
her. 

She  groped  her  blinded  way  to  the  bureau,  drew  out 
the  package  she  had  placed  in  it  a  few  hours  before, 
and  spread  the  little  slips  and  socks  and  shirts  on  the 


204  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

bed.  She  knelt  down,  feeling  along  the  hems  and  the 
tiny  sleeves,  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks  till 
she  tasted  them  salt  on  her  lips. 

She  did  not  want  to  die.  Love  of  life  burned  in 
her  with  a  hard,  inextinguishable  flame,  and  she  could 
catch  a  feeble  gleam,  far,  far  off,  ahead,  that  would, 
that  must,  one  day  lead  her  up  from  these  depths.  She 
buried  her  tear-swollen  face  in  the  little  garments  she 
had  bought  for  her  love-child.  Already  they  seemed 
to  exhale  the  tender,  delicious  fragrance  of  baby  flesh, 
and  something  in  her  thrilled  faintly  to  that  fragrance. 


BOOK  II 
EXILE 


CHAPTER  I 


IN  a  car  of  the  Ninth  Avenue  Elevated,  a  young 
woman,  whom  some  might  have  styled  a  young 
girl,  had  they  not  looked  too  close  at  her  eyes,  hung 
to  one  of  the  straps,  swaying  a  little  with  the  movement 
of  the  car,  and  steadying  herself  as  the  car  jerked  in 
and  out  of  station  after  station  on  its  down-town  pas- 
sage, but  in  the  main  manifesting  the  poise  and  security 
of  the  habituated  strap-hanger.  It  was  a  little  before 
eight  in  the  evening,  and  the  seats  in  the  car  were  full. 
One  woman  had  a  pale  blue  scarf  over  her  head,  and 
carried  what  appeared  to  be  opera-glasses  in  a  small 
plush  bag;  the  woman  with  her  wore  a  spangled  scarf 
over  her  head.  A  youngish  man  in  evening  dress,  with 
a  white  muffler  inside  his  overcoat  collar,  was  reading 
an  evening  paper.  He  glanced  up,  though  not  imperti- 
nently, at  the  young  woman  who  was  holding  to  the 
strap  over  his  head.  After  he  had  glanced  at  her  sev- 
eral times,  he  rose,  and  with  quiet  insistence  gave  her 
his  seat. 

The  young  woman  was  tired,  and  she  was  therefore 
grateful  for  the  seat.  Moreover,  she  was  gratified  at 
attention  from  a  man  of  this  man's  appearance  and 
manners.  She  wondered  if  anything  about  her  own  ap- 
pearance indicated  that  she  was  a  servant,  and  she 

207 


208  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

hoped  exceedingly  that  nothing  did.  She  wore  a  black 
cheviot  skirt,  a  black  shirtwaist,  and  a  white  linen  col- 
lar with  a  small  black  bow  at  the  front  of  the  collar; 
she  wore  this  uniform  because  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp,  her 
employer,  required  it.  She  was  glad  it  was  completely 
covered  at  present  by  a  long  ulster  of  brown  woollen 
material,  a  garment  not  totally  devoid  of  style,  though 
three  years  old.  It  had  taken  her  a  whole  winter  to 
pay  for  it,  in  instalments,  but  it  was  a  good  garment, 
and  she  thought  she  had  done  well  to  buy  it  She  had 
a  small  tippet  of  brown  fur  around  her  neck,  and  her 
light  waving  hair  escaped  rather  alluringly  from  under 
the  edge  of  a  small  fur  turban.  It  was  a  cheap  dyed 
fur,  but  she  wore  both  tippet  and  turban  with  some- 
thing of  an  air.  Her  gloves  were  good  heavy  walk- 
ing-gloves, a  Christmas  present  from  Mrs.  Van  Ant- 
werp's sister.  Her  shoes  were  not  new,  nor  had  they 
been  pretty  when  new,  and  she  hid  her  feet  as  well  as 
she  could  with  her  skirt.  For  a  number  of  years  she 
had  dressed  with  a  whole-hearted  desire  to  avoid  obser- 
vation. But  in  the  last  year  or  two,  she  had  been  grad- 
ually giving  more  and  more  attention  to  her  appear- 
ance. In  the  last  month  or  two,  she  had  found  herself 
depressed  if  no  one  looked  at  her  with  obvious  admira- 
tion as  she  rode  on  the  elevated  to  and  from  her  work. 
It  was  almost  seven  years  since  Lydia  had  left  Kings- 
ville  to  seek  her  fortune.  It  seemed  a  lifetime  to  her 
since  then,  and  Kingsville  almost  a  dream.  In  dreams, 
many,  many  dreams,  in  these  seven  years,  she  had  been 
back  in  Kingsville,  searching,  searching,  through  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  209 

old  streets,  up  and  down  the  hills,  but  never  finding  the 
houses  where  she  had  lived,  or  the  places  she  was  seek- 
ing. 

To  a  casual  observer,  she  was  not  greatly  different 
from  the  Lydia  whom  the  clerk  at  the  Mansion  House 
in  Pleasantwater  had  forcibly  kissed.  But  there  were 
differences.  She  had  grown  in  these  seven  years,  was 
taller  by  actual  measurement.  Her  hands  and  feet, 
though  not  conspicuously  large,  were  larger  than  the 
hands  and  feet  of  Lydia,  the  general  agent.  Her  hair 
had  less  gold  in  it,  and  it  tumbled  about  her  face  a  little 
less  indecorously  than  once.  Her  face  had  not  wholly 
lost  the  child  look,  but  it  was  less  vivid  than  the  face  of 
seven  years  earlier;  its  tints  were  not  faded,  but  they 
were  all  delicately  lowered.  When  she  smiled  now, 
faint  depressions  appeared  in  her  cheeks.  She  carried 
her  slim  body  straight,  and  well,  and  she  carried  her 
head  high,  and  with  a  spirited  air  which  indicated  that 
the  fires  in  her,  though  slumbering,  had  not  yet  gone 
out. 

At  present  her  cheeks  were  brilliant.  She  had 
walked  rapidly  to  the  elevated  station  in  the  sharp  win- 
ter air.  And  the  little  courtesy  paid  her  by  the  refined 
looking  man  who  had  given  her  his  seat  had  kept  the 
colour  still  in  her  cheeks,  as  well  as  added  lustre  to  her 
eyes. 

At  Fifty-ninth  Street  the  man  left  the  car.  His  eyes 
met  hers  briefly,  but  with  interest,  as  he  buttoned  him- 
self securely  into  his  overcoat  and  adjusted  his  muffler 
for  the  plunge  from  the  hot  car  into  the  freezing  air 


210  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

outside.  The  women  with  the  light  scarfs  over  their 
heads  also  left  the  car  at  this  station.  A  good  many 
stations  farther  down  Lydia  left  the  car. 

II 

She  ran  down  the  long  steps  from  the  station  to  the 
street,  straining  her  eyes  eagerly.  There  he  was !  — 
a  little  boy,  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  a  few  feet  back 
from  the  landing  —  Lydia's  love-child !  A  red  knitted 
<:ap,  with  a  long  peak  hanging  down  behind,  was  pulled 
over  his  head  and  down  over  his  ears,  and  some  one 
had  stuffed  him  into  a  little  outgrown  reefer  overcoat. 

He  was  worth  every  bit  of  pain,  suffering,  sorrow, 
bitterness,  hard  work,  she  had  been  through  in  these 
seven  years  —  that  was  what  Lydia  said  to  herself 
every  day  in  the  year,  and  every  hour  in  the  day,  and 
what  she  woke  up  and  said  to  herself  in  the  dead  of 
night. 

"  Gee,  Mother,  you're  late !  I've  been  waiting  hours 
and  hours!  " 

He  was  shivering  a  little.  She  bent  down  and  kissed 
him,  his  arms  around  her  neck;  and  then  with  a  covert 
glance,  to  be  sure  none  of  the  "  kids  "  were  near,  he 
gave  her  another  hug. 

"  Let's  look  at  the  clock."  They  glanced  in  the 
window  of  a  grocery  shop.  "  Oh,  I  am  twenty  min- 
utes later  than  last  night!  Well,  they  had  company 
to  dinner.  Where  are  your  mittens,  Blessed?  What 
are  you  doing  with  your  hands  bare  this  cold  night? 
They're  frozen!  "  She  held  tight  to  one  of  his  bare 
hands  as  they  hurried  along. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  211 

"  I  couldn't  find  my  mittens,  Mother.  I  found  one, 
and  then  I  couldn't  find  it!  " 

They  rounded  a  corner  briskly,  and  started  down  a 
street  parallel  to  the  one  where  their  room  was ;  it  was 
three  squares  and  a  half  out  of  their  way,  but  unless 
an  absolute  blizzard  was  raging,  it  was  understood  this 
was  their  path  home  from  the  elevated  station,  where 
he  met  her  every  evening  when  she  came  from  her 
work.  They  got  a  great  deal  of  joy  and  excitement  out 
of  looking  into  shop  windows  together,  especially  out 
of  the  window  they  were  headed  for.  The  shop  was 
closed,  of  course,  at  this  time  in  the  evening,  but  Peter 
would  choose  what  he  would  rather  have  out  of  the 
whole  window,  and  then  Lydia  would  choose  what  she 
would  rather  have. 

Sometimes,  on  Saturday  evenings,  they  would  walk 
over  to  Sixth  Avenue,  down  it  for  blocks  and  blocks, 
and  even  up  and  back  the  block  of  Twenty-third  Street 
between  Sixth  Avenue  and  Fifth  Avenue,  looking  in 
the  windows  there.  These  Saturday  evenings  were  as 
much  Lydia's  occasions  as  Peter's,  or  more  hers  than 
his,  because,  taking  them  all  in  all,  there  was  more  of 
women's  apparel  displayed  in  the  windows  they  passed 
than  of  toys.  Peter  was  always  sorely  tried  when  he 
had  to  look,  for  long  at  a  stretch,  at  women's  dresses 
and  hats.  But  sometimes  he  behaved  with  exemplary 
patience  and  indulgence,  and  entered  into  his  mother's 
game  at  the  dress-and-hat  windows  as  gaily  and 
sympathetically  as  she  entered  into  his  at  the  train  of 
cars,  sail  boat,  and  fire  engine  windows.  "  Which 
dress,  of  every  one,  would  you  d'ruther  have,  Mother?  " 


212  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

he  would  ask,  on  one  of  these  evenings  when  he  was 
humouring  her  and  making  concessions  to  her  feminine 
weaknesses.  "  I  think  you'd  look  the  prettiest  in  the 
pink  one  I  " 

He  always  began  tugging  at  her  hand  when  they  got 
to  the  first  corner  after  their  meeting  at  the  elevated 
station.  It  was  at  this  corner  the  decision  was  made 
about  passing  the  shop  they  were  on  their  way  to  now. 
He  would  pilot  her  in  the  direction  of  the  toy  window, 
and  she  would  laugh,  as  if  she  had  been  trapped,  when 
she  found  herself  heading  toward  it,  and  he  would 
laugh  gleefully,  as  if  he  had  trapped  her.  They  were 
great  chums. 

To-night  an  icy  wind  was  blowing,  and  she  was  ex- 
ceptionally tired,  but  though  Peter  had  pulled  her  with 
less  resolution  than  usual  in  the  direction  of  the  toy 
window,  she  had  made  no  resistance  whatever.  She 
had  a  vague,  indefinable  feeling  that  recently  she  had 
been  in  some  way  disloyal  to  the  little  fellow,  in  her 
thoughts  at  least,  and  she  wanted  to  make  up  to  him 
for  this  fleeting  disloyalty. 

To-night  there  were  some  new  sets  of  lead  soldiers 
in  the  window.  There  had  been  infantry  before,  but 
now  there  were  cavalry,  cavalry  gallantly  mounted  on 
lead  steeds,  and  artillery  as  well. 

Peter  wavered  between  the  artillery  and  the  cavalry. 
He  could  hardly  tell  which  he  wanted  more,  but  it  was 
against  the  rules  of  the  game  to  choose  more  than  one 
thing  out  of  the  window  on  any  one  evening. 

The  game  was  not  played  this  evening  with  quite  the 
usual  verve.  Lydia  was  slightly  abstracted,  and  what 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  213 

was  more-unusual,  Peter  was  slightly  abstracted.  There 
were  all  the  hand-tuggings,  the  grippings,  the  standings- 
on-tip-toe  to  get  a  better  look,  the  laughter,  and  the 
excited,  "  Mother,  you  will  get  me  one  of  those,  some 
day,  won't  you?" — but  the  key  was  noticeably  low- 
ered. Lydia  wondered  what  was  on  the  child's  mind. 
She  wished,  almost  wished,  these  lead  soldiers  would 
be  taken  out  of  the  window.  The  truth  was,  what  with 
the  new  winter  underclothing  she  had  to  buy  him,  and 
the  dentist's  bill  for  herself,  and  the  doctor's  bill  of  the 
year  before,  for  him,  still  only  half  paid,  and  her  own 
car-fare  ten  cents  a  day  every  day  in  the  month,  and 
the  room  rent,  and  his  food,  and  what  she  paid  to  have 
him  looked  after  in  her  absence  —  well,  it  took  brave 
managing.  No- margin  for  lead  soldiers. 

ill 

They  left  the  toy  window,  and,  hand  clasping  hand, 
almost  ran,  the  wind  from  the  river  in  their  faces,  along 
the  street  westward,  then  around  a  corner,  a  block 
north,  and  finally  doubling  east,  a  half  block  to  their 
own  number.  It  was  the  house  where  the  little  German 
washerwoman,  Emma  Stark,  and  her  old  cousin  lived, 
and  had  been  Lydia's  home  from  the  day  she  had  left 
her  room  at  Rathemacher's  more  than  six  years  before. 
She  had  a  decided  attachment  to  the  house.  It  was 
always  clean  and  orderly,  and,  with  few  exceptions,  the 
people  since  she  had  lived  in  it,  had  been  hard  working, 
decently  behaving  people.  Her  life  having  turned  out 
as  it  had,  she  thought  it  fortunate  that  she  had  been 
spared  lodging  among  brawling,  squalid  families. 


2i4  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

There  were  moments  when  her  heart  was  full  of 
thanksgiving.  She  had  been  by  no  means  continuously 
miserable  all  these  seven  years.  She  had  known  serene 
hours,  light-hearted  hours,  even  downright  merry  hours, 
and  in  her  motherhood  she  had  experienced  deep,  ar- 
dent, abiding  joy. 

"Have  you  been  a  good  boy  to-day?"  she  asked, 
as  they  neared  the  top  of  the  last  flight  of  stairs. 

"  Pretty  good." 

Peter  dropped  his  head  rather  shame-facedly. 

"  Well,  we'll  ask  Emma  and  My  Old,"  said  Lydia, 
stopping  at  their  door,  which  was  slightly  ajar,  giving 
a  light  tap,  and  entering  a  little  way  into  the  room, 
while  Peter  hung  back,  not  eager  to  be  present  at  the 
inquiry. 

The  old  woman  was  ironing.  Emma,  in  her  hat  and 
jacket,  a  wool  scarf  around  her  neck,  was  just  starting 
out  with  a  wicker  suitcase  to  deliver  some  clothes. 

"  What  kind  of  a  boy  has  Peter  been  to-day?  "  asked 
Lydia. 

Emma  peeked  at  him,  shaking  her  finger  smilingly. 
She  seldom  reported  adversely  on  the  young  rascal. 
"  He's  all  right.  Come  in  here,  Peter,  and  get  your 
hands  warm.  We  couldn't  any  of  us  find  his  mittens." 

The  old  woman  looked  more  serious.  "  Ach,  Peter, 
I  told  you  I'd  tell  your  mother!  He  run  off  again! 
He's  been  out  with  them  bad  boys !  " 

IV 

Lydia  did  not  know  what  was  to  be  done  with  him. 
Peter  would  not  stay  penned  up  in  the  room  all  day 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  215 

with  the  old  woman  and  Emma.  Once,  he  had  been 
satisfied  with  the  trips  with  Emma  to  carry  or  collect 
the  laundry  and  with  the  little  walk  in  the  morning  to 
put  his  mother  on  the  elevated,  and  in  the  evening 
to  meet  her.  But  since  he  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  "  kids  " —  two  older  boys  in  the  same  house, 
and  the  indeterminate  neighbourhood  gang  to  which 
they  belonged  —  he  ran  off  to  them  every  time  the  old 
woman's  or  Emma's  eyes  were  not  on  him.  Punished 
for  it,  he  went  again,  and  yet  again.  He  was  pos- 
sessed to  be  with  them.  He  had  brought  in  from  them 
several  mouth-filling  oaths,  with  the  drastic  result  that 
his  mouth  was  washed  out  with  My  Old's  coarse  yellow 
soap.  The  problem  was  growing  serious.  Peter  must 
have  more  outdoors,  and  he  needed  child  companions. 

"  Well,  My  Old,  we  will  see  about  this,"  Lydia  said 
gravely,  and  went  on  with  Peter  to  a  little  room  at  the 
front. 

There  was  barely  space  in  the  little  room  for  two 
single  iron  beds,  each  white,  one  smaller  than  the 
other,  one  along  each  side  wall.  On  the  wall  at  the 
side  of  Lydia's  bed  were  pinned  three  pictures  she  had 
cut  from  a  magazine,  reproductions  of  paintings  of 
Arnold  Bocklin,  that  had  thrilled  her  with  strange 
thrills  and  in  some  indefinable  way  had  opened  up  to 
her  new  and  hitherto  unsuspected  worlds.  On  the  wall 
by  Peter's  bed  were  pinned  both  magazine  and  news- 
paper cuts  of  cowboys,  and  bucking  ponies,  of  ships, 
and  all  manner  of  sea-craft,  and  of  Indians,  Indians 
in  war  bonnets,  on  the  trail,  old-fashioned,  real  In- 
dians, all  the  Indians  Lydia  had  been  able  to  find. 


216  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

There  was  a  loose  strip  of  rag  carpet  on  the  floor, 
which  Lydia  had  painted  herself,  and  there  was  a  small 
rocking  chair  she  had  painted  white,  as  she  had  also 
the  frame  of  the  looking-glass  that  hung  above  the 
wash  stand.  Inside  the  box  of  which  the  wash  stand 
was  made,  and  screened  from  sight  by  a  cotton  valance 
in  a  gay  pattern  of  scarlet  poppies,  were  stored  all 
manner  of  small  articles,  a  fascinating,  forbidden  place 
for  Peter  to  rummage  in  Lydia's  absence. 

Lydia  hung  up  her  ulster  and  stripped  off  the  tight 
reefer  that  Peter  was  vainly  trying  to  wriggle  out  of 
by  himself.  Then  she  seated  herself  in  the  narrow 
space  between  the  two  beds,  and  made  Peter  sit  down 
facing  her,  in  a  low  child's  chair.  His  face,  usually 
mischievous,  was  perfectly  sober. 

"  Well,  Peter,  you've  disobeyed  My  Old  again,  and 
disobeyed  me,  too.  What  am  I  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

Peter  put  one  of  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pocket, 
and  drew  out  a  tangle  of  string,  a  piece  of  chewing-gum 
that  had  been  chewed,  two  rusty  nails,  a  tin  tobacco-tag, 
and  a  tiny  round  looking-glass  —  in  the  heart  of  them 
all,  an  unwrapped  chocolate  caramel,  which  he  extri- 
cated and  handed  to  his  mother. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do  about  it?"  she  had  just 
asked,  and  he  had  handed  her  this  disarming  caramel. 

"  My  friend  give  me  three  of  'em,  and  I  saved  this 
one  for  you." 

His  "  friend  "  was  the  young  Russian  Jew  who  kept 
the  news-stand  near  the  elevated  station. 

"  My  friend's  a  very  good  man,"  added  Peter,  anx- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  217 

ious  to  lead  the  conversation  into  a  safe  channel. 
"  He's  going  to  save  his  funny  page  for  me  every  Sun- 
day. .  .  .  Eat  it,  Mother.  I  saved  it  for  you,  'cause 
I  knew  you  loved  'em.  .  .  .  It's  clean  —  I  wiped  it 
on  my  knickers." 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  I'll  have  to  punish  you,  Peter." 
Lydia  looked  steadily  at  him.  "  You  understood  you 
were  not  to  go  down — " 

"  All  right,  you  can  punish  me  if  you  want  to !  "  he 
interrupted,  his  lip  trembling.  "  But  I  didn't  have  no 
fun.  The  kids  said  — " 

Suddenly  he  rose  from  the  little  chair,  crept  up 
against  her,  and  put  his  arms  around  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  Mother,  I  did  have  a  regalar  father,  just  like 
the  other  boys,  onct,  didn't  I  ?  " 

Lydia  was  silent.  For  years  she  had  dreaded  this 
moment,  and  lo,  it  had  come!  Her  little  boy's  sobs 
stabbed  her. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  you  had  a  father  I  "  she  said,  at  last, 
gathering  him  on  her  lap.  "  Tell  me  what  the  *  kids  ' 
said,  Peter." 

''  They  was  talking  about  their  fathers,  and  I  told 
'em  about  my  father  fightin'  Indians,  and  they  said  it 
wasn't  so.  They  said  you  wasn't  married,  Mother, 
and  that  I  didn't  have  no  regalar  father,  never.  Fritz 
said  I  was  a  — "  He  whispered  a  word  in  Lydia's  ear. 
"  Oh,  Mother,  what's  that?  " 

"  Just  a  bad  word  Fritz  made  up  —  I  don't  know 
what  it  means."  She  hugged  him  tight  to  her,  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks  on  his  shock  of  fair  hair. 


218  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 


"  You  mustn't  pay  any  attention  to  what  those  boys  say, 
they're  trying  to  tease  you,  they're  just  jealous  because 
their  fathers  weren't  Indian  fighters!  " 

She  began  telling  him  stories,  his  favourite  Indian 
stones. 

"  You  remember  one  time,  Peter,  the  Indians  thought 
the  Great  Spirit  was  going  to  give  them  back  all  their 
happy  hunting-grounds?  Well,  they  all  got  together 
to  have  a  big  dance,  and  they  put  up  a  pole  in  the  centre 
of  the  camp,  and  the  young  Indians  that  wanted  to 
make  themselves  brave  warriors  cut  slits  in  the  muscles 
in  their  chests  —  here," — she  illustrated  on  Peter's 
plump  anatomy  — "  and  pulled  buckskin  thongs  through 
the  slits,  and  tied  the  thongs  to  a  rope  which  was  tied 
to  a  pole,  and  then  pulled  and  pulled  and  pulled,  till 
they  pulled  the  flesh  loose  — " 

"  It  did  hurt  'em,  though,  didn't  it,  Mother?  " 

"Hurt  them?     Certainly!     But  Indians  don't  cry." 

"  Tell  me  about  the  squaws  bringing  'em  things  to 
eat,"  suggested  Peter,  looking  a  trifle  sheepish,  and 
wiping  his  last  tears  on  his  mother's  shoulder. 

"  Well,  the  old  squaws  brought  them  dried  deer- 
meat,  and  dried  buffalo-meat  —  that's  what  they  loved, 
you  know  —  and  tried  to  tempt  them  to  eat  because 
they  were  hungry,  and  tried  to  tempt  them  to  drink  — 
they  were  terribly  thirsty  —  but  if  one  of  them  ate  a 
bite,  or  drank  a  drop,  or  stopped  dancing  and  pulling 
on  the  rope  for  a  minute,  then  the  old  Indians  caught 
him  and  — " 

"  Put  a  dress  on  him !  "  completed  Peter,  very  fa- 
miliar with  the  story,  "  and  called  him  a  woman,  and  he 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  219 

was  ashamed  of  hisself.  Gee,  Mother,  they  was  brave, 
wasn't  they,  when  they  pulled  a  hole  in  they-selves  I  I 
wish't  I'd  been  there ! 

"  Tell  me  about  my  father  busting  up  the  dance," 
he  suggested,  in  a  lower  voice,  and  a  little  timidly. 

"  Well,  your  father  had  heard  the  Indians  were 
getting  ready  to  make  trouble  for  the  white  people, 
and  he  took  Swift  Bird  and  Fights  the  Enemy  with 
him,  and  Iron  Horse  and  Crazy  Heart  —  they  were 
the  Indian  police,  you  know,  that  made  the  other  In- 
dians behave  — " 

"  I  know  they  was  " —  impatiently. 

"  They  got  on  their  little  Indian  ponies,  and  rode, 
fast  as  the  wind,  over  the  prairies.  They  could  see 
the  camp  fires  way  off  across  the  plains,  flaming  up  in 
the  dark  night,  and  when  they  got  near  the  camp,  they 
could  hear  the  tom-toms,  going  like  this  " —  she  made 
a  sound  that  delighted  Peter  — "  in  the  medicine-man's 
tepee  — " 

"  That  was  Spotted  Eagle,  the  medicine-man. 
Mother,  was  I  borned  then?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no." 

She  went  on  hurriedly  with  a  tale  of  Spotted  Eagle. 
She  said  no  more  of  punishment.  Peter  had  been  pun- 
ished enough,  this  day,  with  the  "  kids'  "  taunts.  .  .  . 
She  could  scarcely  recall  how  she  had  first  thought  of 
making  his  father,  of  whom  he  had  questioned  her, 
the  chief  hero  of  these  bedtime  stories,  but  she  had 
invented  this  father  for  him  and  dwelt  on  his  exploits 
as  an  Indian  fighter  till  he  had  become  almost  as  real 
a  figure  to  her  as  to  Peter  himself. 


The  tale  of  Fears  Nothing  she  saved  to  rob  Peter's 
nightly  bath  of  some  of  its  terrors.  The  ordeal  he 
particularly  and  regularly  protested  against  was  the 
ordeal  of  purification.  She  brought  a  kettle  of  hot 
water  from  the  Starks'  room,  and  in  spite  of  his  twist- 
ing and  struggling,  she  was  succeeding  fairly  well  in 
keeping  him  under  her  hands,  when  suddenly,  in  the 
midst  of  her  story  of  Fears  Nothing  roping  a  wild 
colt,  he  asked,  "  Mother,  have  you  got  a  picture  of 
him?" 

"Of  v/hom?"  she  inquired,  startled. 

"Of  my  father!" 

Lydia  went  on  drying  his  hands  with  the  towel  she 
held  in  hers. 

"  Mother,  didn't  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  one,  I  think,"  she  replied,  slowly. 
"  Let  me  look." 

She  hunted  through  her  trunk  for  a  photograph  of 
Mr.  Poole  which  he  had  given  her  on  her  last  Christ- 
mas in  Kingsville.  Perhaps  a  bona-fide  photograph, 
any  photograph,  would  be  proof  to  Peter  of  the  exist- 
ence, once,  of  a  "  regalar  "  father. 

She  drew  the  faded  picture,  a  cabinet  photograph, 
out  into  the  light,  and  looked  at  it  herself.  A  queer, 
mistrustful  feeling  seized  her.  She  had  thought  it  was 
really  a  little  more  dashing  than  this !  But  it  was  too 
late  to  put  it  away  now.  Peter  was  on  tiptoe,  eager  to 
see  it. 

"  Phew!  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  kind  of  whistling 
sound,  at  his  first  look. 

He  stood  with  his  back  against  his  little  iron  bed. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  221 

He  had  on  pajamas  Lydia  had  made  for  him  and  of 
which  he  was  exceedingly  proud.  His  face  was  very 
sweet  and  clean  and  rosy  and  shining,  after  its  enforced 
scrubbing.  His  bare  chubby  feet  were  crossed,  and  he 
held  the  photograph  with  both  hands,  studying  it. 

Finally  he  looked  up,  and  handed  the  photograph 
back  to  her. 

"  You  can  have  it,  Mother,"  he  said,  soberly.  "  I 
was  goin'  to  show  it  to  the  kids,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to, 
now.  He  don't  look  —  esactly  —  like  a  Indian 
fighter." 

Then  something  he  saw  in  his  mother's  face  moved 
his  sympathy.  He  reached  up  and  wound  his  arms 
around  her  neck. 

"  He  don't  look  esactly  like  I  thought  he  did,  Mother, 
but  he  looks  all  right!  "  he  said  to  her,  brightly  and 
consolingly. 

"I  wish't  he'd  had  on  his  buckskin  suit,  though,  when 
he  had  it  tooken,"  he  added,  reflectively. 


He  was  a  long  time  going  to  sleep  after  he  was  in 
bed.  Lydia  arranged  a  shade  on  one  side  of  the  gas- 
burner,  so  that  his  bed  should  be  in  shadow,  and  seated 
herself  with  her  work.  She  was  darning  the  mon- 
strously big  holes  in  a  pair  of  his  stockings.  Peter 
kept  asking  abrupt  questions,  more  or  less  revelant  to 
their  recent  conversations.  At  last,  sounds  ceased  to 
come  from  his  direction.  She  glanced  at  him  —  he  was 
fast  asleep,  looking  very  blameless  and  cherubic,  his 
red  lips  a  trifle  parted. 


222  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

So  after  all  these  years  of  dignified,  and  even  prim 
behaviour,  the  people  in  the  house  did  know  that  she 
wasn't  married ! 

"  What's  ahead  of  us,  anyway?  "  she  thought  to  her- 
self. "  Just  this  grind,  and  loneliness,  and  poverty, 
forever.  Never  any  one  congenial  .  .  .  nothing  in 
the  world  that  I  crave  for  myself  or  for  him!  What 
have  we  got  to  look  forward  to?  " 

She  dropped  the  stocking  into  her  lap.  At  the  end 
of  almost  seven  years  of  patient  endurance  of  her 
obscure  lot,  fires  of  rebellion  had  started  in  her. 

A  long  fluttering  sigh  from  Peter's  lips  broke  in 
on  her  thoughts,  the  little  ghost  of  a  sob.  "  Poor  lit- 
tle chap,  he's  worrying  even  in  his  dreams  over  whether 
he  ever  had  a  '  regalar  '  father!  " 

She  laid  aside  her  work,  and  bent  over  his  bed, 
pushing  the  moist  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  His 
hands  were  outside  the  cover.  They  were  still  dimpled 
baby  hands,  but  they  were  rough  and  red.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  them. 

"  Poor  little  boy,  poor  little  boy !  "  she  whispered 
to  him.  "  I  wish  I  could  take  it  all  myself  —  all  the 
punishment,  if  it  is  punishment  ...  all  the  suffering! 
That's  the  worst,  darling,  you  have  to  suffer,  too !  " 


CHAPTER  II 


IN  the  first  hour  of  the  New  Year,  six  years  earlier, 
Peter  had  entered  the  world.  Lydia's  final  cries 
of  anguish  had  mingled  with  the  blowing  of  whistles, 
the  booming,  the  terrific  din,  with  which  the  great  city 
regularly  greets  the  coming  of  the  New  Year;  and 
athwart  the  horns  and  boisterous,  drunken  merry-mak- 
ing of  revellers  in  the  street  below,  Peter's  first  cry 
broke  on  her  ears. 

He  had  been  born  in  this  same  little  room  where  he 
lay  asleep  now  in  his  shadowed  bed. 

In  those  hours  when  Peter  and  the  New  Year  were 
being  born  together,  Lydia  had  cried  aloud,  wildly  and 
wrathfully,  "  Don't  show  me  the  child  when  it's  born ! 
I  never  want  to  look  at  it!  How  can  mothers  love 
their  children,  when  they've  gone  through  this?  "  But 
with  his  first  cry  —  no  feeble  wail,  Peter  had  vigorously 
saluted  the  world  he  was  entering  —  a  wave  of  celestial 
happiness  passed  over  her  soul.  "  Oh,  it's  a  real 
baby !  "  she  cried,  incredulously. 

Then  she  had  fainted.  And  when  she  opened  her 
eyes  again,  she  looked  into  the  nice  eyes  of  a  grey- 
haired  doctor,  who  sat  beside  her  bed,  his  fingers  on 
her  pulse.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  Emma  and  the  old 
woman  were  standing,  and  another  woman,  with  a 

223 


224  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

bundle  in  her  arms.     The  streets  below  were  quieter. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  see  your  son,  little 
mother?  "  the  doctor  asked. 

"  Son !  "  Lydia  laughed,  almost  gaily.  Her  thoughts 
went  back  to  a  book  she  had  loved — u  Peter  Ibbet- 
son."  ...  "  His  name's  Peter,  Doctor,"  she  said,  a 
strange,  wistful  light  coming  into  her  eyes,  hollow  with 
suffering.  "  Give  him  to  me  1  " 

And  the  little  bundle  was  laid  against  her  heart. 

II 

Emma  Stark's  gentle  eyes  were  the  magnet  that  had 
drawn  her  on  that  day  when  she  had  been  forced  to 
leave  Rathemacher's.  She  had  implored  the  little 
washerwoman  to  find  a  room  for  her,  telling  her  a  story 
of  having  been  married,  and  deserted  by  her  husband. 
And  Emma  had  arranged  everything;  she  had  secured 
this  little  room  for  her,  had  gone  for  a  nurse  and 
doctor  the  night  of  Peter's  birth. 

Whether  it  was  true,  that  Emma  was  the  child  of 
this  old  woman  she  called  her  cousin,  as  the  old  woman, 
for  some  unfathomable  reason,  had  whispered  to  her 
on  the  occasion  of  her  first  call,  and  whether,  if  true, 
Emma  knew  of  the  fact  herself,  Lydia  had  never  dis- 
covered. She  had  certainly  never  asked  them  ques- 
tions. 

And  neither  had  they  questioned  her,  though  at  first 
she  had  feared  the  old  woman  might. 

Through  Emma,  who  had  been  told  it  at  Miss  Tomp- 
kins',  she  learned  that  McCarthy  had  gone  to  a  west- 
ern city  to  live.  It  was  with  an  odd  sinking  of  heart 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  225 

she  heard  that  bit  of  news  —  one  of  her  few,  intangible 
hopes  had  vanished.  Until  she  knew  he  had  gone,  she 
had  always  hoped  that  some  day  she  might  run  across 
him  on  the  street.  But  from  the  day  she  left  Miss 
Tompkins',  she  had  never  seen  his  friendly  face.  Sev- 
eral years  had  elapsed  now,  since  she  had  learned  of  his 
leaving  the  city,  and  he  had  ceased  to  come  into  her 
mind,  except  as  a  rare,  passing  thought. 

Save  at  long  intervals,  she  did  not,  any  more-,  dwell 
intensely  on  the  thought  of  Churchwell.  And  when 
she  did,  it  was  almost  entirely  in  connection  with  her 
child.  Her  mind  was  singularly  free  from  blame  of 
him  for  his  part  in  her  own  fate.  But  at  times,  when 
she  had  no  money  to  buy  for  Peter  things  he  needed, 
or  longed  for,  a  very  fury  of  resentment  flamed  up  in 
her  against  Churchwell. 

One  winter,  the  hardest  she  struggled  through,  when 
Peter  had  had  one  child-illness  after  another,  and  was 
inadequately  clad,  as  she  herself  was,  she  had  written 
a  long  letter  to  Churchwell,  saying  to  herself,  angrily 
and  vindictively,  that  she  did  not  care  if  it  did  fall 
into  the  hands  of  his  wife !  It  had  been  a  bitter,  pas- 
sionate letter,  pleading  for  what  Peter  needed  and  what 
Peter  wanted.  She  had  poured  out  on  him,  with  no 
sparing  pen,  all  she  and  Peter  were  going  through. 
When  the  letter  was  finished,  she  had  read  it  over, 
tears  streaming  down  her  face  upon  its  pages  .  .  .  and 
then  she  had  torn  it  into  bits. 

In  all  these  years,  she  had  heard  nothing  whatever 
of  him,  nothing  of  Kingsville.  At  first,  she  had  been 
always  straining  her  eyes  in  every  direction,  dreading 


226  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

yet  hoping,  always  watching  when  she  was  on  the 
street,  always  expecting  to  meet  him.  There  had  been 
but  one  vivid  reminder  of  Kingsville.  On  a  Novem- 
ber afternoon,  towards  dusk,  she  was  hurrying  along 
with  a  bundle  of  clothes  she  had  washed  and  ironed 
and  was  carrying  home  to  a  boarding  house  in  one  of 
the  West  Forties.  Peter  was  not  quite  two  years  old 
then,  and  she  was  washing  and  ironing  for  their  living, 
under  the  direction  of  Emma  and  the  old  woman.  She 
was  earning  very  little,  and  she  had  not  yet  learned  to 
manage  her  slender  earnings  as  well  as  she  learned  to 
manage  them  later.  And  she  was  very  shabby,  shab- 
bier than  any  year  before  or  after  that;  she  had  sold 
her  best  clothes,  after  Peter's  birth,  and  the  jewelry 
Churchwell  had  given  her,  because  she  had  been  in 
pressing  need  of  money;  and  she  had  not  been  able  to 
buy  others ;  she  was  wearing  old  things  she  had  brought 
from  Kingsville. 

It  was  a  wonderful  afternoon  for  November,  and 
she  was  breathing  it  in  with  delight,  after  bending  over 
the  ironing-board  since  early  morning.  She  had  al- 
most forgotten,  for  the  moment,  her  miserable  condi- 
tion, when  suddenly,  nearing  the  boarding  house  of  her 
destination,  she  saw  coming  toward  her  a  man  and 
woman  whom  she  recognised.  They  were  from  Kings- 
ville, a  banker  and  his  wife.  She  had  had  only  a 
bowing  acquaintance  with  them  there;  but  it  flashed 
across  her  that  she  had  seen  this  man  standing  with 
bared  head  on  the  edge  of  her  father's  grave.  The 
thought  that  they  might  recognise  her  almost  suffocated 
her.  She  wheeled  abruptly,  when  she  was  almost  in 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  227 

their  faces,  speeding  ahead  of  them  till  she  reached 
the  corner,  where  she  turned  and  fled.  .  .  .  For  days 
afterwards,  she  had  been  filled  with  excitement,  sleep- 
ing little  at  night  and  thinking  all  day  of  Kingsville. 

in 

But,  for  the  most  part,  these  had  been  years  of  such 
intense  activity  since  Peter's  birth,  she  had  been  so 
completely  immersed  in  the  problem  of  earning  a  living, 
the  present  moment  had  been  so  insistent,  that  she  had 
had  small  opportunity  for  indulging  in  wretched  reflec- 
tions on  the  past,  or  in  adventurous  dreams  of  the 
future. 

For  the  first  two  years,  she  had  tried  washing  and 
ironing,  under  the  direction  of  Emma  and  the  old 
woman,  in  order  that  she  might  be  at  home  with  her 
baby.  But  while  these  German  washerwomen,  inured 
to  the  heaviest  labour  from  their  childhood,  could  work 
early,  late,  and  ceaselessly,  support  themselves  and  save 
money,  Lydia  had  soon  found  it  would  be  impossible 
to  support  herself  and  Peter  in  this  manner.  She  was 
seldom  actually  ill,  but  she  had  not  the  strength  requi- 
site to  turn  off  a  profitable  amount  of  this  kind  of  work, 
and  the  monotony  of  it  had  been  almost  insupportable 
to  her. 

As  soon  as  she  had  been  able  to  make  up  her  mind 
to  leave  Peter  for  the  whole  day,  she  had  secured  a 
position  as  housemaid.  From  then  on,  she  had  paid 
the  Starks  for  looking  after  him  during  the  day,  and 
had  given  them  money  to  buy  milk  and  other  simple 
food  for  him.  She  continued  to  have  great  difficulty 


228  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

in  making  both  ends  meet,  but  she  was  gradually  get- 
ting along  better,  and,  taking  it  all  in  all,  was  consider- 
ably better  off  than  when  she  had  tried  to  wash  and 
iron  for  a  living. 

In  the  three  years  from  the  time  she  had  left  off 
washing  and  ironing  until  she  had  secured  her  present 
"  place  "  with  the  Van  Antwerps,  which  she  had  held 
now  a  year,  she  had  had  four  "  places  ";  and  she  had 
encountered  many  difficulties,  many  discouragements, 
and  countless  heart-breaking  mortifications  to  her  pride 
in  adjusting  herself  to  the  status  of  servant. 

But  she  had  constantly  gained  in  experience  and  skill. 
She  had  learned  from  other  servants,  by  observation, 
and  from  mistresses,  through  instruction.  The  work 
itself  she  had  seldom  found  obnoxious,  and  often  inter- 
esting. She  pored  over  cookbooks;  and  in  her  room 
at  night,  Peter  asleep  in  his  little  bed,  she  studied 
books  from  a  public  library,  on  dietetics,  on  marketing, 
on  every  imaginable  subject  relating  to  household  econ- 
omy. She  had  profited  from  all  these  efforts  to  im- 
prove herself,  till  now  at  the  Van  Antwerps',  she  re- 
ceived better  wages  than  she  had  ever  received  before. 

And  although  she  did  not  admire  either  Mrs.  Van 
Antwerp,  or  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp's  sister,  Mrs.  Schem- 
merhorn,  she  could  not  deny  that  they  were  just  and 
generous  to  her. 

The  duties  of  both  cook  and  maid  devolved  upon 
her;  but  she  did  not  object  to  this,  as  she  felt  her  posi- 
tion much  less  keenly  than  where  other  servants  were 
employed;  and  the  Van  Antwerp  apartment  had  every 
appliance  for  the  speedy  and  satisfactory  despatch  of 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  229 

her  work.  The  laundry  work  was  sent  out;  a  bellboy 
washed  the  windows ;  and  a  strong  Finnish  woman  came 
once  a  week,  and  laboured  the  whole  day  under  her 
direction,  shaking  and  sweeping  rugs,  polishing  silver 
and  brass,  waxing  and  polishing  floors. 

There  were  seldom  guests,  never  more  than  two  or 
three  at  a  time;  while  no  visitor  ever  spent  the  night. 
The  Van  Antwerp  routine,  in  a  word,  was  never  dis- 
turbed. Indeed,  if  the  soul  of  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  had 
a  passion,  Lydia  perceived  it  a  passion  for  that  un- 
broken, comfortable  calm  which  results  from  routine. 

Thursday  afternoons  she  had  for  her  own,  the  Van 
Antwerps  dining  out  at  some  hotel  on  that  evening,  ac- 
cording to  their  custom  of  years'  standing.  On  Sun- 
days, dinner  was  at  one,  so  that  she  had  almost  the 
whole  of  the  afternoon  for  herself  and  Peter. 

Mr.  Van  Antwerp  attended  church  with  his  wife  and 
sister-in-law  on  Sunday  mornings,  and  dined  at  home 
on  that  day.  On  other  days  he  rarely  dined  at  home, 
but  dined  at  his  club,  or  elsewhere. 

His  business  had  something  to  do  with  stocks,  securi- 
ties, investments  —  obscure  symbols  to  Lydia,  familiar 
only  with  the  tangible  business  activities  of  Kingsville, 
such  things  as  coal,  marble,  and  dry-goods.  Whatever 
it  was  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  made  his  money  from,  he  was 
always  flying  off  at  a  moment's  notice  to  London  or 
Paris,  California  or  New  Mexico,  with  no  more  con- 
cern to  himself  or  to  any  other  member  of  his  house- 
hold than  if  he  had  been  merely  running  over  to  Brook- 
lyn or  Jersey  City. 

The   arrangements   and   evident  understandings   of 


230  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

this  small,  stiff,  calm  household  where  she  was  em- 
ployed, were  very  remarkable  to  Lydia  —  very  baffling. 
Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  and  her  sister  were  originally 
from  the  South,  they  had  told  her.  Mr.  Van  Ant- 
werp's origin,  his  reasons  for  marrying  the  lady  who 
was  now  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  —  obviously  many  years 
older  than  he  —  every  aspect  of  this  man,  everything 
pertaining  to  him,  remained  to  her,  after  a  year's  obser- 
vation, almost  a  complete,  and  sometimes  rather  a 
stimulating  mystery. 


CHAPTER  III 


IT  was  still  perfectly  dark,  and  it  seemed  to  Lydia 
she  had  been  asleep  only  a  few  moments,  but  here 
was  Emma  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Emma,  it's  not  time  to  get  up !  "  she  called 
drowsily. 

"  Yes,  yes,  quarter  to  six,  Lydia,"  came  the  soft,  re- 
gretful answer. 

She  sprang  out  of  bed  and  lit  the  gas.  Peter's  eyes 
suddenly  opened,  and  he  looked  up,  smiling  —  thor- 
oughly alive  all  in  an  instant.  He  was  always  awake, 
squirming  about,  wanting  to  talk  to  her,  exasperatingly 
crickety,  while  she  was  still  heavy  with  sleep. 

"Can  I  get  up?" 

"  No,  not  yet.     Turn  your  eyes  to  the  wall." 

"  Jake  found  a  dog,  Mother,  and  he's  goin'  to  keep 
it.  It's  a  pup,  it's  awful  thin  —  it's  got  two  sores  on 
it.  Wish't  I'd  found  it  'stead  of  Jake." 

A  short  silence,  broken  by  the  faint  rustle  of  Lydia's 
dressing.  She  buttoned  her  coarse  muslin  corset-cover, 
and  pulled  her  black  cotton  petticoat  over  her  head. 

"  Mother  —  can  I  have  a  dog?  " 

"  Yes,  some  day."  Whatever  Peter  asked  for,  she 
promised.  They  lived  in  an  indeterminate,  halcyon 
future  where  dogs,  and  all  things,  would  be  possible. 

231 


232  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

At  least  Peter's  faith  was  constant  and  enormous  in 
this  indeterminate  but  halcyon  future.  A  time  had 
arrived  when  Lydia's  faith  in  it  had  begun  to  waver. 

"What  kind  of  a  dog?" 

"  Jake  thinks  it's  a  bloodhound,  that  it's  goin'  to  be. 
Oh,  you  mean  the  kind  I  want?  I  b'lieve  I'd  ruther 
have  a  bloodhound,  too,  or  a  water  spaniel." 

They  were  still  talking  of  dogs  a  half-hour  later 
when  they  made  their  way  together  down  the  three 
flights  of  dark  stairs  inside  the  house,  and  down  the 
shorter  flight  from  the  front  door  to  the  street,  and 
along  the  street  itself,  which  was  almost  completely 
dark,  except  for  the  light  of  the  street-lamps  still  burn- 
ing. 

Snow  had  fallen  in  the  night;  the  street  and  side- 
walks were  white.  They  could  feel  ice  under  the  snow, 
and  a  fine  cutting  snow,  like  powdered  glass,  blew  sting- 
ingly  into  their  faces.  "  Perhaps  you'd  better  go  back, 
Peter." 

"  Oh,  Mother!     Please!  "  beseechingly. 

"  Well,  come  on,  then." 

This  frigid,  dark-grey,  early-morning  hour,  when 
she  was  hurrying  along  to  her  work,  with  all  these 
other  working  people  hurrying  to  theirs,  had  never 
ceased  to  be  a  depressing  hour  to  Lydia.  But  to  Peter, 
his  hand  tightly,  hotly,  clasped  in  hers,  running  along 
by  her  side,  the  hour  was  full  of  magic. 

When  they  reached  their  parting  place,  at  the  foot 
of  the  long  flight  of  steps  to  the  elevated  station,  Peter 
hugged  her,  and  clung  to  her  for  an  instant.  Hardly 
any  one  was  about  yet,  and  so  he  was  not  afraid  of 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  233 

being  discovered  in  these  unmanly  demonstrations.  As 
Lydia  kissed  him  good-bye,  he  caught  her  face  between 
his  hands. 

"  Mother,  do  you  think  it'll  be  long  till  we  can  have 
the  dog?  "  he  asked,  his  eyes  shining  eagerly  into  hers. 

To  herself,  Lydia  said,  "A  dog!  Why,  you  poor 
little  beggar,  I  can't  even  get  you  a  lead  soldier!  " 

But  to  Peter  she  answered,  "  Not  very  long,  I  hope ! 
A  collie,  then,  we  decided !  Well,  good-bye,  good-bye ! 
Mind  Emma  and  My  Old!  Remember  what  you 
promised  me !  Don't  forget,  Peter !  Because  I'll  be 
trusting  you  all  day!  Good-bye!  " 

And  she  ran  up  the  steps,  getting  her  ticket  out  of 
her  purse,  to  have  it  ready  for  the  turn-stile.  She 
looked  back.  She  could  still  see  Peter,  standing  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs,  looking  up  after  her,  his  rosy  face 
smiling  after  her,  bravely,  but  a  little  wistfully,  tufts 
of  his  fair  hair  pushing  out  all  around  his  forehead, 
from'  under  his  red  knitted  cap.  He  waved  his  hand 
to  her.  She  saw  him  turn,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
long  red  peak  of  his  cap  bobbing  up  and  down  his 
back  as  he  started  off.  Then  a  swirl  of  fine  snow  and 
the  dark  street  swallowed  him  up.  Something  closed 
tight  around  her  heart,  and  hurt  her  sharply.  She 
seemed  still  to  see  the  long  red  peak  of  Peter's  little 
cap  bobbing  up  and  down  his  back,  even  after  she  had 
seated  herself,  and  was  travelling  along  toward  her 
work  in  the  fiercely  bright  car,  with  the  dense  darkness 
outside.  Peter's  brave,  eager,  trusting  eyes  seemed 
still  to  be  looking  into  hers. 


234  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ii 

Breakfast  at  the  Van  Antwerps'  was  understood  to 
be  ready  promptly  at  eight.  Immediately  at  eight, 
Mrs.  Van  Antwerp,  shortly  followed  by  Mrs.  Schem- 
merhorn,  would  make  her  appearance  in  the  dining 
room.  As  a  rule,  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  made  his  appear- 
ance not  more  than  a  few  moments  later;  but  occa- 
sionally the  ladies  had  already  left  the  table.  It  did 
not  seem  to  make  the  slightest  difference  to  him  whether 
the  ladies  of  his  household  breakfasted  with,  or  before, 
him;  neither  did  it  seem  to  make  the  slightest  difference 
to  the  ladies  themselves.  Not  that  it  was  an  impolite 
household.  On  the  contrary. 

The  clock  on  the  dining  room  mantel  stood  at  a 
minute  to  eight. 

Lydia  switched  on  the  lights,  and  a  primrose  glow 
overspread  the  breakfast  service. 

In  her  little  white  cap  —  a  severe  and  never  ceasing 
humiliation  to  her  unquenchably  proud  spirit  —  her 
only  ornament  the  plain  Third  Avenue  wedding-ring, 
she  gave  a  last  scrutiny  to  the  table.  It  was  almost 
identical  with  thousands  of  other  breakfast  tables,  in 
thousands  of  other  almost  identical,  tropically-heated 
dining  rooms  all  over  the  city,  all  over  the  country  from 
ocean  to  ocean. 

She  laid  the  morning  paper  beside  the  ash-tray  at 
Mr.  Van  Antwerp's  place. 

To  her  astonishment,  he  came  in  first.  She  could 
not  remember  that  it  had  ever  happened  before. 

She  had  thought  of  a  Roman  Senator,  the  first  time 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  235 

she  saw  Mr.  Van  Antwerp.  With  his  soft,  measured 
gait,  his  immobile,  chilling,  epicurean  countenance,  she 
had  fancied  him  —  with  some  amusement  to  herself  — 
wrapped  in  the  folds  of  a  toga. 

She  had  been  exceedingly  grateful  to  him,  when  he 
had  taken  no  notice  of  her.  For  some  weeks,  when  he 
had  had  occasion  to  address  her  he  had  called  her 
"  Clara,"  apparently  confusing  her  with  the  preceding 
maid,  whose  name  had  been  Clara. 

Her  experience  in  her  last  "  place  "  before  the  Van 
Antwerps'  had  been  distinctly  different.  The  man  of 
the  house  had  waylaid  her  at  every  opportunity,  had 
pressed  her  hand  —  dusting  his  study,  and  had  tried  to 
kiss  her. 

It  had  been  almost  delightful  when  Mr.  Van  Ant- 
werp had  thought  it  was  still  "  Clara  "  who  was  hand- 
ing him  a  fresh  box  of  matches. 

However,  through  a  succession  of  emotional  nuances, 
she  had  grown  to  regard  with  some  irritation  his  com- 
plete oblivion  of  her  existence  as  a  human  being,  as  a 
young  human  being,  as  a  young  woman  —  and  person- 
able 1  It  unmistakably  piqued  her,  at  last,  to  be  looked 
on  by  him  as  nothing  more  than  one  of  the  pieces  of  his 
domiciliary  machinery,  as  merely  Clara's  successor  — 
the  emptier  of  his  ash-tray! 

He  nodded,  almost  imperceptibly,  and  took  his  seat 
at  the  table.  As  he  unfolded  his  paper,  he  glanced 
sideways  at  her. 

Mrs.  Van  Antwerp*  came  into  the  room.  "  Good 
morning,  William."  Her  voice  was  heavy,  but  not 
devoid  of  breeding. 


236  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Good  morning."  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  looked  up 
from  his  paper  very  briefly. 

With  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn,  there  was 
another  exchange  of  good  mornings,  civil,  but  not  effu- 
sive. 

Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  was  rather  comely;  her  voice 
seemed  not  to  belong  to  her  own  face.  Mrs.  Schem- 
merhorn was  a  tall,  angular  woman,  with  conspicuous 
teeth;  an  undue  proportion  of  bone  material  appeared 
to  have  gone  to  her  making-up.  However,  there  was 
a  look  about  her,  even  more  markedly  than  about  her 
comelier  sister,  of  a  forerunning  of  gentle  ancestry; 
you  could  no  more  doubt  her  quality  than  the  quality 
of  a  Heppelwhite  chair.  Lydia  could  not  conceive  a 
drop  of  wife-blood  or  mother-blood  ever  to  have 
coursed  through  the  veins  of  these  punctilious  sisters; 
could  not  conceive  them  ever  to  have  undergone  those 
mysterious,  excruciating,  exquisite,  thrilling  adventures 
leading  to  and  culminating  in  motherhood.  Yet  the 
historical  facts  were  —  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn  mourned 
a  husband,  once  flesh,  and  two  children  who  had  died 
in  infancy;  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp,  twice  wed,  and  during 
her  first  marriage  twice  a  mother. 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  night,  Julia?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Van  Antwerp.  There  was  always  a  thorough  exchange 
of  experience  between  them  in  regard  to  the  night's 
hours. 

"  I  slept  very  well  the  early  part  of  the  night.  But 
I  heard  the  clock  strike  three,  four,  and  five !  " 

"  Well,  well !  The  wind  blowing  —  always  keeps 
me  awake,  too." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  237 

"  Your  lame  shoulder,  Carrie,"  asked  Mrs.  Schem- 
merhorn,  helping  herself  to  a  hot  muffin,  "  how  is  it 
this  morning?  " 

Thereupon  ensued  the  sisters'  regular  breakfast  dis- 
cussion of  their  ailments,  mentioned  with  eminent  re- 
finement but  minutely.  They  gave  no  little  thought  to 
the  condition  of  their  aging  though  still  admirably  pre- 
served persons. 

As  usual,  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  took  no  part  in  their 
breakfast  conversation.  He  talked  less,  and  ate  less, 
than  any  other  man  Lydia  had  ever  known  or  had  op- 
portunity to  observe.  His  breakfast  consisted  princi- 
pally this  morning,  as  always,  of  the  morning  paper, 
black  coffee,  and  cigarettes. 

Lydia  had  frequently  speculated  on  his  age.  He 
was  not  young,  yet  she  hesitated  to  call  him  old.  In 
a  different  way,  he  seemed  as  stiff  and  formal  as  his 
wife  and  sister-in-law.  But  Lydia  could  imagine  his 
unbending.  This  morning  as  she  stood  by  the  break- 
fast table,  black-uniformed,  white-capped,  alert  and  re- 
spondent, the  idea  of  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's  unbending 
recurred  to  her.  It  had  been  an  unmistakable  personal 
glance  he  had  given  her,  at  the  moment  of  his  seating 
himself  at  the  table  and  unfolding  his  paper,  and  she 
felt  a  faint  fluttering  of  excitement. 

in 

The  sisters  rose  from  the  table  together.  Mrs.  Van 
Antwerp  said,  most  courteously,  "  You  will  excuse  us, 
please,  William." 

Mr.  Van  Antwerp  looked  up  from  his  paper,  and  as 


23 8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

his  wife's  straight,  broad,  black-garbed  back,  following 
the  straight,  narrow,  black-garbed  back  of  Mrs.  Schem- 
merhorn,  was  vanishing  through  the  door  into  the  hall, 
called  out  to  her,  "  Carrie,  please  have  a  steamer  trunk 
brought  up  from  the  locker  to-day." 

"Eh,  William?  Sailing  Saturday?  Well,  you'll 
have  a  rough  passage,  I'm  afraid."  She  painted  to  the 
snowstorm  racing  past  the  windows. 

Lydia  withdrew  to  the  butler's  pantry.  As  she 
pushed  through  the  swinging  door,  she  heard  "  Lon- 
don, Rotterdam,"  in  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's  odd,  rapid, 
muffled  utterance. 

Her  hands  began  to  shake  slightly.  She  sorted  out 
some  silver  from  the  plates  she  had  removed,  and 
placed  it  in  a  pan  of  hot  suds. 

She  could  hear  the  indistinct  sounds  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Van  Antwerp's  voices.  They  were  talking  busi- 
ness, one  subject  in  which  they  seemed  to  have  mutual 
interest.  There  was  something  in  the  sound  of  their 
voices,  low  and  confidentially  toned,  that  she  resented 
vaguely,  that  was  even  a  little  revolting,  inexplicably 
revolting,  to  her,  and  she  left  the  silver  soaking  in  the 
hot  suds,  and  went  from  the  pantry  into  the  kitchen. 

She  set  her  breakfast  on  the  kitchen  table.  Three 
times  a  day  she  ate  her  meal  here,  alone,  in  the  kitchen ; 
never  without  a  feeling  of  protest.  But  as  she  sat 
down  to  it  now,  an  overwhelming  sense  of  humiliation 
at  her  position  swept  over  her. 

She  pushed  her  plate  away  from  her,  and  was  look- 
ing at  it,  at  the  slice  of  bacon  and  the  muffin,  her 
mind  sunk  in  sudden  miserable,  mutinous  reflections, 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  239 

when  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  entered.     "The  list,  Lydia." 

Lydia  handed  her  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  she  had 
written  a  marketing  list. 

She  heard  the  outer  door  of  the  apartment  click  shut. 
Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  had  started;  no  weather  interfered 
with  her  marketing;  she  never  ordered  over  the  tele- 
phone. Mr.  Van  Antwerp  must  be  still  over  his  news- 
paper. 

She  entered  the  dining  room  softly,  a  tray  in  her 
hand.  She  had  countless  times  entered  the  dining  room 
under  conditions  precisely  like  the  present  conditions, 
when  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  had  started  on  her  market- 
ing, when  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn  was  securely  isolated 
in  her  bedroom  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  apartment, 
and  when  Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  as  now,  was  absorbed  in 
his  morning  paper.  For  the  first  of  these  countless 
times,  she  experienced  a  sensation,  distinctly  but  terri- 
fyingly  delicious,  of  being  alone  with  him.  The  softly 
swinging  pantry  door  had  shut  them  in,  secretly  and 
provocatively.  She  started  to  remove  the  water- 
glasses,  careful  not  to  disturb  Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  but 
tinglingly  conscious  that  she  wished  him  aware  of  her 
presence. 

She  was  lifting  the  marmalade  jar  in  its  silver  holder 
when  he  dropped  his  paper,  and  took  the  cigarette  from 
his  lips.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  "  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  even  lower  than  his  customary  voice. 
"  I  may  be  gone  some  time." 

Lydia  returned  his  gaze  unswervingly.  She  did  not 
know  exactly  what  he  meant,  and  was  afraid  to  venture 
on  an  answer. 


24o  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  I  don't  think  you  were  born  to  this."  He  indi- 
cated with  his  eyes  the  tray  her  hand  was  resting  on. 

"  Unhappily  not!  "  she  answered,  smiling,  but  a  trifle 
scornfully. 

"  You  have  a  history,"  he  said,  slowly  knocking  the 
ash  from  his  cigarette.  "I  thought  so!" 

'  You  thought  so  ?  When  you  confused  me  with 
your  former  slave?  All  those  weeks  you  honoured  me 
with  her  name  — '  Clara  '  ?  " 

An  amused  smile  met  hers  frankly.  It  completely 
transformed  the  man's  face. 

"  That  was  rather  astute,  on  my  part  —  I  thought," 
he  said,  still  smiling,  and  raising  his  eyebrows  signifi- 
cantly. "  You  didn't  perceive  that  it  was  a  piece  of 
play-acting?  Ah,  I  credited  you  with  more  penetra- 
tion!" 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  rate  your  histrionic  powers  as 
high  as  they  deserve !  "  she  retorted,  with  a  low  laugh. 
"  You  were  very  convincing!  "  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
some  fountain  of  her  being  had  been  unsealed,  and  was 
bubbling,  bubbling!  She  would  have  loved  to  laugh 
out  gaily,  ringingly,  had  she  dared. 

"  I  wish  you  might  see  Clara !  Only  a  blind  man, 
or  an  imbecile,  could  be  guilty  of  the  confusion  you 
accuse  me  of!  " 

He  relit  his  cigarette  and  looked  at  Lydia  deliber- 
ately, with  candid  admiration. 

"  A  man  must  feign  blindness,  my  girl,  to  retain  his 
peace  of  home,  when  you  are  in  it!  And  he  must  be 
actually  blind,  to  retain  his  peace  of  mind!  You  are  a 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  241 

disturber,"   he   added,   slowly,   with  unmistakable  but 
controlled  intensity. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  Lydia  felt  her 
pulses  beating  fiercely. 

In  the  tense  silence,  a  discreet  rustling  was  heard, 
and  she  hurriedly  made  a  pretence  of  rearranging  her 
tray  as  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn  entered. 

"  My  handkerchief  —  did  I  drop  it  at  my  place, 
Lydia  ?  "  she  asked. 

When  the  handkerchief  was  not  found,  she  seated 
herself,  with  a  slightly  tentative  air,  in  the  chair  next 
to  Mr.  Van  Antwerp. 

"  Well,  William,  isn't  the  weather  —  er  —  just  now 
—  almost  unsafe  for  you  to  think  of  crossing?"  she 
asked  with  polite  solicitude. 

Lydia  had  a  fleeting,  tail-of-eye  vision,  as  she  de- 
parted with  her  tray,  of  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  coolly,  re- 
luctantly, with  approximative  if  not  actual  rudeness, 
transferring  his  attention  from  his  paper  to  Mrs. 
Schemmerhorn.  She  saw  his  eyes  had  narrowed 
slightly,  and  she  fancied  a  sort  of  frigid,  black-flame 
rage  in  them.  She  was  enraged,  too,  enraged  from  the 
same  cause,  and  terrified  from  others. 

IV 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  in  the  course  of  her  morn- 
ing routine,  she  entered  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's  bathroom. 
The  sight  of  the  flesh-brushes,  sponges,  toilet-waters, 
unguents,  had  always  affected  her  in  a  peculiar  and  not 
agreeable  way.  Something  in  her  recoiled  from  the 


242  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

idea  of  a  man  .submitting  himself  to  the  elaborate  and 
calculated  toilet  this  bathroom  implied. 

She  was  not  free  this  morning  from  the  usual  recoil, 
the  usual  slight  distrust,  as  she  put  his  Sybaritic  bath- 
room to  rights.  But  she  was  in  the  grip  of  intricate 
emotions.  She  hardly  knew  if  she  were  wretched  or 
happy,  disgusted  and  depressed,  or  wildly  jubilant.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  all  of  these  things  at  once. 
She  kept  saying  to  herself,  "  I'm  glad  he's  going,  day 
after  to-morrow!  I'm  glad  he's  going  to  be  gone  a 
long  time !  I'm  glad  there  probably  won't  be  a  chance 
for  another  word  alone  between  us!  "  And  all  the 
time,  she  knew  she  was  not  glad  he  was  going,  not  glad 
he  was  going  to  be  away  a  long  time,  not  glad  there 
would  be  no  further  chance  for  secret  words  or  glances. 

She  said  to  herself  that  it  was  coarse  and  low,  this 
significant  conversation  with  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp's  hus- 
band in  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp's  home.  She  had  felt  self- 
conscious  and  ashamed  when  she  confronted  her  on  her 
return  from  market;  and  she  was  uneasy  at  the  very 
thought  of  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn.  But  all  the  time, 
despite  her  self-reproaches,  her  apprehensions,  she  was 
faint  and  dizzy,  with  the  sound  of  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's 
low-spoken  words  still  in  her  ears,  with  the  memory 
of  that  singular  gaze,  at  once  so  frigid,  so  burning! 

She  touched  a  button,  flooding  the  oval  face  of  the 
bathroom  mirror  with  dazzling  light,  and  studied  her 
face  in  the  mirror  before  which  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  per- 
formed the  rites  of  his  morning  toilet.  A  resolute 
scrutiny  revealed  tiny  lines  in  her  cheeks,  like  almost 
imperceptible  leaf-veinings ;  faint  lines  encircled  her 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  243 

throat,  and  horizontally  across  her  forehead  were 
other  faint  lines.  Radiating  from  the  tails  of  her  eyes 
were  lines  still  exceedingly  delicate  .  .  .  but  a  few 
more  years,  other  lines  would  join  these  .  .  .  crow's- 
feet  !  And  what  chance,  then,  for  another  fling  at  life, 
with  all  its  sweet  perils ! 

Finishing  her  work  in  the  bathroom,  she  returned  to 
the  bedroom,  and  dusted  the  white  woodwork  of  the 
window-sill  which  each  morning  had  accumulated  a  pow- 
dering of  coal  dust  from  the  outside  air.  Great  clouds 
of  snow  were  still  flying  past  the  window.  She  was 
safe  and  warm  here,  inside  the  apartment.  But  what 
about  Peter?  Was  he  safe  and  warm,  too?  Of 
course !  Peter  was  all  right !  Why  did  she  keep  wor- 
rying about  Peter? 

She  looked  down  through  three  stories  of  space  into 
the  street.  Only  a  few  people  were  in  sight.  A  de- 
livery wagon  was  passing,  the  great  patient  horses  lift- 
ing their  feet  cautiously  from  the  icy  street.  .  .  . 
Peter's  face  came  back  to  her  as  she  had  seen  it  when 
he  held  her  face  in  his  hands  and  asked,  "  Mother,  do 
you  think  it'll  be  long  till  we  can  have  the  dog?" 
She  saw  the  long  peak  of  his  red  cap  bobbing  up  and 
down  his  back,  as  he  started  off  in  the  swirling  snow. 
She  tried  to  shut  out  the  sight.  But  she  could  not  shut 
it  out.  It  was  such  a  simple  sight,  yet  something  about 
it  hurt  her  almost  unbearably. 

Down  in  front  of  the  apartment  house  was  a  little 
parked  space  in  which  two  historical  gentlemen  in 
bronze  were  supporting  each  other.  In  the  summer, 
when  the  shrubbery  was  in  leaf,  the  two  historical  gen- 


244  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

tlemen  were  almost  obscured  by  foliage.  The  snow 
had  drifted  on  their  feet  now.  But  Lydia  was  not 
thinking  of  them.  She  was  thinking  of  Peter.  Peter's 
clear  eyes  were  looking  directly  and  compellingly  into 
hers.  She  had  said  to  him,  "  I'll  be  trusting  you  all 
day,  Peter!"  And  all  day,  Peter  would  be  trusting 
her,  too !  Could  she  betray  him  —  that  brave,  wistful 
little  chap  ?  She  had  placed  on  him  the  eternally  inef- 
faceable stain  of  bastardy  —  had  she  not  wronged  him 
enough  ?  —  her  love-child ! 

Then,  the  next  moment,  a  white,  chiselled  face,  look- 
ing strange,  potent  things,  pierced  its  way  between  her 
face  and  Peter's  face  —  shut  Peter's  face  away  from 
her.  .  .  . 

Then  Peter's  eyes  again,  and  Peter's  rosy  face, 
Peter's  little  roughened  hands,  and  Peter's  big  head 
with  its  shock  of  fair  tousled  hair!  .  .  .  And  again 
Lydia  said  to  herself,  with  renewed  resolution,  and  al- 
most ferociously,  "We  can't  have  dogs,  Peter!  So 
many,  many  things  we  want,  boy,  we  can't  have !  But 
we've  got  each  other !  And  I'll  work  for  you,  just  as 
I've  worked  for  you  all  these  years,  Peter.  I'll  be 
straight  and  honourable,  and  I'll  make  up  to  you, 
darling,  just  as  far  as  I  can,  in  every  straight  and  hon- 
ourable way  I  know,  for  bringing  you  into  the  world ! 
I'll  do  it!  We'll  live  for  each  other,  Peter,  and  we'll 
live  and  work  straight !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 


MR.  VAN  ANTWERP  came  home  from  Europe 
in  the  first  week  of  March,  but  hardly  had  he 
landed  when  he  sailed  for  England  again.  In  his  two 
or  three  days  at  home,  he  had  been  completely  absorbed 
in  business,  and  had  spent  even  fewer  hours  in  the 
apartment  than  he  usually  spent  there.  Lydia  had  just 
caught  his  eyes  on  hers  —  during  the  first  breakfast 
—  for  one  fleeting  instant,  when  Mrs.  Schemmerhorn, 
looking  up  from  her  olate,  had  immeshed  both  pairs  of 
eyes  in  her  own. 

He  was  in  Europe  now.  Mrs.  Van  Antwerp  and 
Mrs.  Schemmerhorn  had  gone  to  Atlantic  City  for  their 
yearly  sojourn  there  of  one  week  in  the  month  of 
April;  they  had  both  expressed  to  Lydia  the  hope 
that  she  would  take  a  good  rest  in  their  absence,  which 
she  had  interpreted  as  a  suggestion  that  she  should 
enter  on  her  duties  in  the  apartment  with  renewed 
vigour  on  their  return.  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
she  had  been  going  through  her  work  for  some  time, 
not  really  negligently,  but  certainly  listlessly.  Doubt- 
less they  had  noticed  it. 

The  week  of  her  vacation  was  half  over,  and  she  was 
seated  in  her  bedroom,  sewing  a  lace  collar  on  a  dress 
she  had  bought  a  few  days  before.  She  had  paid  five 

245 


246  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

dollars  and  eighty-nine  cents  for  the  dress  and  in  the 
shop  it  had  looked  pretty,  but  now  it  frankly  looked  its 
price. 

She  had  borrowed  the  money  from  Emma  to  buy 
it,  and  little  by  little,  as  she  could  spare,  she  would  pay 
it  back.  But  as  she  sat  sewing  on  the  dress  now,  she 
was  conscious  of  a  dull  resentment  in  connection  with 
the  loan.  The  slight  reservation  in  Emma's  manner, 
when  she  handed  the  money  to  her,  was  as  if  she  had 
said,  "  We  wear  our  clothes  till  they  are  worn  out 
before  we  buy  new  ones."  Not,  to  be  sure,  that  she 
had  said  anything  at  all. 

Lydia  darted  her  eyes  off  her  sewing.  Emma  had 
knocked,  and  entered,  without  waiting  for  her  to  an- 
swer. Oh,  dear,  what  had  Peter  done  now?  She  was 
certain  it  was  something  in  connection  with  Peter. 

Emma's  cheeks  were  pink,  and  her  brown  eyes  were 
faintly  troubled.  She  nervously  patted  an  iron-holder 
she  held  in  her  hands. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  bother  you,  Lydia,  but  did  Peter 
bring  our  stove-blacking  over  here?  " 

"Stove-blacking!  What  would  Peter  want  with 
your  stove-blacking?"  Lydia  asked  impatiently,  as  if 
stove-blacking  were  the  last  thing  in  the  world  Peter 
would  touch,  when  she  knew,  perfectly  well,  that  no 
human  mind  was  ingenious  enough  to  fathom  where 
Peter's  budding  desires  and  Peter's  magnificent  over- 
plus of  energy  might  lead  him.  But  then  Emma,  even 
Emma,  whom  she  sincerely  loved,  and  knew  she  loved, 
had  irritated  her  more  than  a  little  in  these  last  few 
weeks.  Who  had  not  irritated  her,  lately,  when  it 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  247 

came  to  that?     Her  mind  was  like  a  raw  wound  —  the 
least  touch  galled  it. 

"  Peter's  out  with  the  boys,"  she  said,  sulkily,  as  if 
trying  to  prove  an  alibi  for  him.  She  knew  that 
neither  Emma  nor  the  old  woman  approved  of  Peter's 
ever  being  downstairs  with  the  boys,  and  at  this  mo- 
ment it  gave  her  a  slight,  malicious  satisfaction  to  make 
Emma  understand  she  was  managing  Peter  herself. 

"  Yes,  but  he  was  up  again,  after  he  went  down,"  re- 
plied Emma  in  her  quietly  sweet,  long-suffering  voice. 
"  He  was  around  the  shelf  where  we  keep  the  stove- 
blacking,  and  now  it's  not  there.  I  thought  he  might 
a-brought  it  in  here.  It's  a  new  box.  I'd  just  put  it 
on  the  shelf  before  Peter  came  in,"  continued  Emma, 
not  often  so  persistent. 

The  old  woman  came  shuffling  through  the  door, 
and  stood  beside  Emma,  glaring  at  Lydia.  Apparently 
Peter  had,  at  last,  put  too  strong  a  strain  upon  her  re- 
gard for  him.  "  Ach,  he  took  it,  for  sure !  He  takes 
everything,  that  boy!  " 

'  Takes  everything !  "     Lydia  was  aflame  in  an  in- 
stant.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

"  He  lost  the  hammer  and  them  good  shears  we 
had!" 

Lydia  was  furious  with  Peter,  but  more  furious  with 
his  accusers.  "  I'll  replace  whatever  Peter's  lost,"  she 
said  haughtily.  "  I'll  see  that  he  doesn't  bother  you 
much  longer!  "  she  added,  with  only  a  vague  idea  what 
she  intended  by  this  threat. 

The  old  woman  lubbered  back  across  the  hall. 
Emma  withdrew  murmuring  soothingly. 


24B  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  All  this  fuss  about  a  box  of  stove-polish!  "  Lydia 
said  to  herself.  Reason  would  have  told  her  that  to 
these  German  washerwomen,  passionately  neat,  pas- 
sionately frugal,  a  box  of  stove-polish  was  as  important 
as  any  of  the  importunate  issues  of  her  own  life  to 
her.  But  she  was  not  listening  to  the  voice  of  rea- 
son. 

She  heard  Peter  stamping  noisily  up  the  stairs.  He 
was  whistling,  his  smiling  face,  his  mop  of  flaxen  hair, 
his  hands  and  clothes,  all  bearing  damnatory  evidence 
to  the  recent  accusations  against  him  —  from  head  to 
toe  he  was  smeared  with  blacking. 

Lydia  seized  him  angrily.  "  What  did  you  mean  — 
to  dare  take  their  stove-polish?  " 

Peter's  jaunty  air  vanished. 

"What  did  you  mean?  What  did  you  mean?" 
shaking  him  roughly. 

"  I  needed  it,"  Peter  gasped. 

"Needed  it!"  She  was  almost  in  tears,  and  the 
immediate  occasion,  as  she  dimly  realised,  was  by  no 
means  the  real  occasion  —  the  storm  had  been  gather- 
ing in  her  for  months.  "  Oh,  you  — "  She  paused 
for  a  word. 

Peter  supplied  it. 

"  Brat !  "  he  finished,  with  satanic  divination,  look- 
ing her  saucily  in  the  eye. 

Lydia  stared  at  him,  stupefied  —  this  sinner  of  her 
own  blood,  not  yet  separated  from  his  baby-teeth, 
wholly  unterrified,  even  humorously  relishing  the  situa- 
tion. 

She  burst  into  tears. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  249 

Peter  subsided  into  a  scared  quiet.  "  I  had  a  acci- 
dent," he  said. 

"  Accident!     What  kind  of  an  accident?  " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Mother."  His  lips  began  to 
tremble.  "  They  was  a  nail  sticking  up  —  it  teared  a 
hole  in  my  stocking." 

'  Your  new  stockings !  "  Lydia  exclaimed  almost 
despairingly. 

Peter  courageously  turned  the  rear  of  his  leg  for  her 
inspection.  A  great  gap  appeared,  and  the  plump  calf, 
laid  bare  in  the  opening,  was  heavily  smeared  with 
black.  A  casual  glance  could  scarcely  have  detected 
where  black  stocking  stopped,  blackened  leg  com- 
menced. 

"What  on  earth!" 

"  I  wetted  the  box  and  blacked  my  leg  with  it  so  the 
hole  wouldn't  show,"  explained  Peter  quickly. 

"  So  that's  what  you  were  doing  with  the  stove-pol- 
ish!" 

Suddenly  Lydia  sniffed.  "  Peter!"  She  sniffed 
again,  dismayed  now.  "  Peter,  what's  that  in  your 
pocket?  " 

Peter  drew  something  from  the  pocket  of  his  knicker- 
bockers and  held  it  out  tenderly  in  his  grimy  little 
hands.  "  I  found  it  under  the  electric  light!  "  It  was 
a  dead  English  sparrow. 

"Peter,  how  horrible!"  Lydia  snatched  the  bird 
from  his  hands. 

"Mother,  Mother!" 

She  threw  the  window  open  and  hurled  the  dead 
sparrow  down  through  space. 


250  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Peter  threw  himself  on  the  floor,  sobbing  passion- 
ately. 

"  Get  up,  Peter!     Stop  your  crying!  " 

He  lifted  himself  heavily  from  the  floor.  Tears  had 
washed  rivulets  down  his  smeared  cheeks,  still  infan- 
tile, exquisite,  of  rose-petal  texture.  "  It's  .  .  .  it's 
.  .  .  the  only  pet  ...  I  ever  had  ...  in  my  life !  " 
he  brought  out  brokenly  between  his  sobs. 

"  Pet !  Why,  you  couldn't  have  that  bird  for  a  pet, 
Peter !  It  was  dead  —  and  —  and  coming  to  pieces !  " 
Her  voice  softened. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  stuff  it.  Jake  knows  how,  he's  got 
a  stuffed  robin-bird.  And  now  you  throwed  it  away! 
Mother,  I  hate  you!  " 

"  Oh,  Peter !  "     She  tried  to  draw  him  to  her. 

"  I  hate  you !  "  he  reiterated,  fighting  away  from  her. 

He  threw  himself  on  his  little  bed,  and  Lydia  picked 
up  her  sewing. 

II 

Peter  was  not  part  and  parcel  of  herself;  he  was 
something  quite  distinct  from  her,  thinking  hostile 
thoughts  of  her,  looking  hatred  at  her!  A  long  dis- 
tance separated  them  now. 

Now  and  then  a  dying  sob  smote  her  ears.  He  was 
eating  his  stormy  little  heart  out  over  the  loss  of  the 
dead  English  sparrow.  His  cheap,  shabby  clothes,  his 
scuffed,  stubby  little  shoes  wrung  her  heart.  She  de- 
tested herself  for  having  bought  this  new  dress,  she 
detested  herself  for  her  impatience,  her  violence,  with 
him.  Who  was  she,  to  have  guardianship  over  a  child? 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  251 

Why,  she  was  the  veriest  child  herself  in  her  dealings 
with  Peter.  Other  women  —  were  they  children,  too  ? 
Or  was  she,  alone,  among  women,  a  shameless  child? 
Oh,  everything  was  wrong!  If  only  she  and  Peter 
could  lie  down  to-night  in  this  little  room,  and  never 
wake! 

Some  time  during  the  night,  she  was  wakened  by  a 
small  arm  stealing  about  her  neck,  by  a  choking,  penitent 
voice.  "  Mother,  Mother,  I  love  you !  I  told  you  I 
hated  you,  Mother,  but  I  love  you  better  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world.  I  don't  hate  you,  Mother !  I 
said  I  did,  but  I  don't !  " 

There  in  the  dark,  that  April  night,  life  was  re- 
created good  to  Lydia.  Since  Peter's  first  cry,  ending 
her  travail,  that  mad  New  Year's  morn,  nothing  had 
sounded  in  her  ears  so  ineffably  sweet  as  this  little 
reassuring  voice. 

Peter's  love,  that  precious  love  of  her  love-child, 
the  feel  of  this  little  soft  arm  around  her  neck  —  ah, 
what  more  did  she  need? 


CHAPTER  V 


IT  was  Sunday  morning.  Lydia  was  dusting  the 
books  in  the  library  of  the  Van  Antwerp  apart- 
ment. She  loved  to  handle  them;  they  were  not  new, 
and  every  book  had  William  Van  Antwerp  written  on 
its  fly-leaf,  histories,  classic  essayists  and  poets,  a  sprin- 
kling of  classic  fiction  and  many  French  and  German 
works.  They  were  merely  an  item  of  furniture  now; 
no  one  except  herself  seemed  ever  to  look  at  them. 

The  room  with  its  unused  books,  its  formal,  unused 
air,  had  always  faintly  depressed  her,  but  this  morning, 
she  felt  a  great  charm  in  it.  It  was  shimmering  with 
the  morning  sunshine  of  May,  and  the  fragrance  of 
lilacs  arranged  in  vases  and  jars  brought  back  Kings- 
ville  to  her  with  painful  delight  —  brought  back 
Churchwell  and  her  love  for  him.  Seven  years  since 
that  one  brief  rapturous  love-passage  in  her  life,  with 
its  disastrous  ending.  She  wondered  how  —  starved 
as  she  was  for  love,  life  —  burning  with  a  thousand 
intricate  desires  —  she  had  ever  been  able  to  endure 
the  long,  dull,  weary,  humiliating,  menial  years  that 
stretched  behind  her.  "  I'm  going  to  live  —  again 
—  before  it's  too  late  1  "  she  said  to  herself  dizzily. 
"  I'm  going  to  live !  I'm  going  to  live  I  " 

The  day  before  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  had  come  home 

252 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  253 

from  Europe,  and  this  morning  he  had  departed  start- 
lingly  from  Van  Antwerp  custom;  he  had  not  accom- 
panied his  wife  and  sister-in-law  to  church.  At  break- 
fast, he  had  announced  his  intention  of  going  to  his 
office,  instead,  to  look  over  some  correspondence. 

Lydia  had  a  vague,  perturbed  notion  that  this  an- 
nouncement concerned  herself. 

The  ladies  were  at  church  now. 

She  listened  tremulously  for  sounds. 

The  outer  door  of  the  apartment  opened  and  her 
hand,  running  over  the  mantel  with  her  dust-cloth,  came 
to  a  standstill.  A  warm  exquisite  faintness  swept 
her.  She  heard  some  one  moving  softly  along  the 
narrow  hall  of  the  apartment,  and  then  through  a  magic 
haze  she  saw  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  standing  in  the  door- 
way. He  wore  a  frock  coat,  and  removing  his  silk 
hat,  held  it  in  his  gloved  hand.  His  ceremonial  attire 
awed  and  charmed  her.  She  knew  that  tinging  her 
cheeks  and  flaming  in  her  eyes  were  youth  and  ardour 
and  allure. 

In  the  doorway,  only  a  few  feet  from  where  she 
stood  in  this  silent,  sunlit  room,  perfumed  with  May, 
was  a  man  whose  white,  carven  face  fascinated  her 
beyond  all  reason  or  resistance!  He  fascinated  her 
because  she  had  known  few  men,  and  this  man  was 
different  from  such  men  as  she  had  known.  He  fasci- 
nated her  because  she  felt  that  he  knew  intimately  all 
those  vast,  secret,  labyrinthine  phases  of  life  whose 
existence  she  knew  so  little  about,  and  was  intensely 
curious  about.  Above  all,  he  fascinated  her  because 
overwhelmingly  powerful  forces  in  her  own  nature, 


254  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

which  had  lain  dormant  for  years,  were  reawakening 
wildly,  clamouringly.  And  at  this  moment  of  their 
reawakening,  nature  offered  her  Mr.  Van  Antwerp, 
mature,  highly  sophisticated,  dissipated,  baffling. 

She  was  delirious  with  the  thought  of  the  fires  that 
frigid  exterior  might  cover.  She  was  intoxicated  with 
a  sense,  long  denied  her,  of  personal  power.  She,  her- 
self, was  to  release  the  fires  under  that  sheath  of  ice! 

Mr.  Van  Antwerp  walked  across  the  room  to  where 
she  stood,  still  with  her  hand  on  the  mantelshelf,  and 
drew  off  his  gloves. 

"You  understood  I  would  come  back?"  he  asked, 
almost  in  a  whisper,  with  his  slight  but  transforming 
smile. 

II 

And  then,  a  brief  awkward  silence  obtained.  Lydia 
felt  at  sudden  and  singular  disadvantage.  He  had 
come  back  to  see  her  alone,  and  momentous  things  were 
trembling  in  the  golden  air  of  the  room.  Yet  her  cap 
and  apron  marked  off  an  impassable  gulf  between  her- 
self and  this  man  in  his  irreproachable  Sunday  morning 
elegance.  She  felt  a  servant  before  him. 

"  I've  always  been  opposed,  on  principle,  to  intrigues 
of  this  sort — "  He  made  a  gesture  indicating  he 
meant  within  the  walls  of  his  home.  u  But  what 
would  you?  —  when  Lydia  enters!  " 

He  had  never  before  called  her  by  her  name,  and  it 
gave  her  an  odd  start,  keenly  pleasurable. 

He  regarded  her  quizzically,  and  after  a  few  jesting 
commonplaces,  began  questioning  her,  not  rudely,  but 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  255 

with  unconcealed  curiosity.  She  told  him  that  she  en- 
joyed dusting  his  books. 

"You're  a  reader,  then?  Novels,  I  suppose,"  he 
suggested. 

"  Not  always." 

"  What  else,  for  instance?  " 

"  Oh,  many  things  —  Pater,  Matthew  Arnold, 
Schopenhauer." 

"By  Gad!"  He  drew  a  cigarette  from  his  case, 
and  lighted  it.  "  By  Gad !  —  Pater  —  Schopenhauer 
—  and  this!"  He  motioned  with  his  cigarette  to  her 
dust-cloth. 

"  You  think  Pater  and  Schopenhauer  would  prevent 
my  dusting  your  apartment  properly?  "  she  asked,  smil- 
ing a  little. 

"  No,  probably  not.  I  should  say  not."  He  blew 
a  long  column  of  smoke  from  his  lips. 

Suddenly  his  face  sobered.  "  My  girl,  it's  astound- 
ing to  me  that  you're  doing  the  sort  of  thing  you  are !  " 

"  It  used  to  astound  me,  too !  It's  still  like  a  dream 
to  me  —  that  I  am.  But  I  wasn't  trained  to  do  any- 
thing. I  had  to  do  what  I  could.  There  was  this, 
or  clerking  in  a  shop." 

He  threw  his  cigarette  into  a  cloisonne  jar. 
"  Never  in  Christ's  world  were  you  intended  for 
this!"  he  said,  and  drew  her  slim  fingers  away  from 
the  dust-cloth  they  were  still  clinging  to.  He  held 
them  delicately  in  his. 

"  Not  pot-wrestler's  hands,  Lydia,  oh,  no !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. '  They  attracted  me  even  before  your  face 
did!" 


256  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

He  lifted  them  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them  lightly. 
"  You  will  never  lack  a  lover  —  while  these  hands  re- 
main to  you !  " 

He  drew  her  gently  to  him.  "  I'm  saturated  with 
you,  my  girl !  "  he  said,  in  a  barely  audible  voice. 
"  You  haven't  been  out  of  my  mind  a  moment  since 
that  morning  —  last  winter  .  .  ." 

With  a  sudden  movement,  she  released  herself  and 
drew  a  little  away  from  him,  placing  her  hands  against 
the  lapels  of  his  coat. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  I've  been  like  a  nun,  for 
years !  I  don't  know  why  I  can't  resist  you !  But 
don't  think  I  give  up  like  this  ...  to  any  one  .  .  . 
just  at  a  word!  I  swear!  I  swear — I  haven't  been 
like  that!  I'm  not  like  that!  " 

"  No,  no,  no  .  .  ."  he  soothed  her,  drawing  her  to 
him  again.  "No,  no  —  I  don't  think  that!"  He 
smiled  reassuringly  into  her  troubled  eyes.  "  Do  you 
suppose,  for  one  moment,  my  dear,  that  you  would 
interest  me  as  you  do,  if  I  thought  you  were  any  ordi- 
nary little  drab  ?  " 

She  felt  against  her  burning  cheek  the  cool  contact 
of  his.  "  Let  me  look  after  you,  dear,  and  make  life 
a  little  more  worth  while  to  you!  "  he  said,  caressingly. 
"  Let  me  look  after  you,  now,  my  girl,  my  lass!  "  he 
whispered. 


CHAPTER  VI 


AT  first,  it  had  been  very  wonderful  to  Lydia  —  like 
one  of  the  transformations  of  fairyland,  to  have 
money  again,  to  keep  Peter  at  boarding-school  and  be 
able  to  pay  his  school  bills  promptly,  to  send  him  to  a 
"  boys'  camp  "  in  vacation-time,  to  dress  him  well,  to 
dress  herself  richly  and  fashionably,  and  to  have  a 
luxurious  little  apartment  she  could  call  her  own. 

More  than  two  years  had  passed  now  since  that  Sun- 
day morning  in  the  month  of  May  that  had  so  com- 
pletely altered  the  complexion  of  her  life. 

And  sometimes,  yet,  it  seemed  a  miracle  to  her  that 
it  was  her  own  hand,  this  delicate  hand,  lying  idle  in  her 
silken  lap.  In  her  rare  moments  of  reflection,  she 
knew  herself  a  changed  creature  inwardly,  even  more 
momentously  than  these  jewelled  fingers  outwardly  be- 
tokened. If  she  had  not  lost  in  the  course  of  these 
two  years  whatever  delicate  reserves  of  character  she 
had  once  possessed,  if  she  had  not  lost  all  her  early 
ideals,  she  had  at  least  banished  most  of  the  ideals, 
and  hidden  the  delicate  reserves  securely  in  some  inner 
chamber,  and  refused  to  remember  that  they  were 
there.  Looking  back,  as  once  in  a  long  while  she  did, 
on  her  relation  to  Ransom  Churchwell,  she  felt  that 
she  had  been  a  very  pure  and  innocent  young  pet-sorv  ^ 
the  time  in  her  life  when  he  was  her  lover, 

257 


258  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Life  was  a  far  different  thing  to  her  now,  and  men 
far  different  beings,  from  what  she  had  once  thought. 
Through  the  bitter,  poverty-stricken  years  in  Kings- 
ville,  after  her  father  had  been  forced  to  resign  from 
Ransom  College,  and  all  through  those  obscure  years 
when  she  had  worked  for  herself  and  Peter,  first  as  a 
washerwoman,  then  as  a  house-servant,  she  had  kept 
her  belief,  despite  her  own  cruelly-disappointing  lot,  in 
the  essential  sweetness  and  goodness  of  life,  and  in  the 
essential  goodness  and  cleanness  of  the  human  heart. 
But  after  two  years  and  a  half  of  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's 
tutoring,  and  the  tutoring  of  men  she  knew  through  him 
—  or,  in  the  last  year,  men  she  knew  through  other 
avenues,  she  no  longer  believed  in  the  essential  clean- 
ness and  uprightness  of  the  human  heart.  And  she 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  a  purpose  that  made  for  good 
running  through  the  universe ! 

Everywhere  under  the  fair,  glittering  surface  of 
things,  she  saw  the  world  saturated  with  vice  the  very 
existence  of  which  had  been  unguessed  by  her  through 
twenty-seven  years  of  her  life.  Back  of  their  distin- 
guished manners,  their  correct  morning  clothes,  their 
frock  coats,  their  immaculate  evening  attire,  men  ap- 
peared to  her,  alike,  incorrigible  beasts.  Society  pre- 
tended not  to  know  this.  Wives  of  the  bosom  were 
perhaps  genuinely  ignorant  of  it.  Women,  such  as 
she  had  become,  knew  it  for  a  desolating  certainty. 

At  times,  she  was  inclined  to  think  that  Life  was  the 
diabolic  perpetration  of  an  Arch  Joker.  She  did  not 
know  where  she  was  drifting  to,  or  what  end  this  Arch 
Joker  had  in  store  for  her.  .  .  . 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  259 

She  loved  the  perfumed  luxury  that  surrounded  her, 
she  loved  the  beautiful  soft  gowns  and  the  jewels  she 
wore,  she  loved  to  see  plays  and  operas  and  pictures, 
loved  to  buy  things  for  Peter  which  "  the  other  boys 
had."  But  her  life,  if  she  stopped  to  think  of  it  —  she 
tried  frantically  not  to  stop  and  think  of  it  —  she 
loathed.  She  loathed  it,  but  she  had  made  it  for  her- 
self, with  conscious  efforts,  and  with  success,  and  she  did 
not  see  how  to  escape  from  it  now.  Except  in  moments 
of  desperation  —  lulls  that  inevitably  occurred  now  and 
then  in  the  course  of  her  feverish  hours  —  she  did  not 
genuinely  desire  to  escape  from  it.  She  could  hardly 
conceive  herself  going  back  to  that  dull,  laborious  life 
she  had  known  before.  Occasionally,  she  dwelt  briefly 
on  the  idea  that  another  miracle  might  some  day  in- 
tervene in  her  behalf.  Another  shift,  and  perhaps  she 
would  be  lifted  out  of  this  life  into  another  life  where 
she  would  be  as  comfortable  materially  as  in  her  pres- 
ent life,  but  where  she  might  enjoy  respectability.  She 
jeered  at  respectability;  but  in  her  secret  heart  she 
ceaselessly  and  passionately  craved  it.  Perhaps  some 
day,  before  she  had  lost  her  youthful  charm  and  her 
power,  she  would  meet  a  man  who  knowing  all  there 
was  to  know  about  her  would  wish  to  marry  her.  Such 
luck  actually  did  come,  sometimes,  to  women  like  her- 
self .  .  . 

II 

One  November  evening,  after  dinner,  she  dismissed 
her  maid,  and  at  a  little  after  seven  o'clock  was  en- 
tirely alone  in  her  apartment. 


26o  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  moved  about  restlessly  from  room  to  room,  alter- 
ing the  position  of  a  chair  or  cushion  here,  with  the 
toe  of  her  slippered  foot  sliding  a  rug  a  few  inches 
to  right  or  left  there,  adjusting  a  fold  of  drapery, 
straightening  a  picture,  turning  on  or  off  lights,  every- 
where studying  the  effects  of  her  new  furnishings  in 
her  new  rooms.  She  had  been  in  the  apartment  barely 
threie  weeks,  and  she  was  still  extracting  from  its  novel 
vistas  something  of  the  excitement  a  child  extracts  from 
a  new  toy. 

The  early  autumn  she  had  spent  in  Europe  with  Mr. 
Van  Antwerp,  who  was  still  abroad,  endeavouring  to 
dispose  of  American  property  to  foreign  capitalists; 
and  the  three  weeks  since  her  own  return,  she  had 
spent  in  a  veritable  debauch  of  reckless  buying. 

At  the  door  of  the  long  and  narrow  hall,  the  en- 
trance to  two  rooms  which  opened  into  each  other 
through  a  wide  arched  doorway,  she  paused. 

"Charming,  charming!  "  she  exclaimed  aloud. 

"Enchanting!" 

But  she  stamped  her  foot,  in  its  prodigiously  high- 
heeled  slipper,  with  impatience.  Charming  as  it  was, 
she  was  dissatisfied,  oppressed  by  a  vague  discontent 
that  was  constantly  with  her.  More  than  this,  at 
present,  there  was  a  definite,  pressing  anxiety  in  regard 
to  money.  Those  dining  room  chairs  with  their  high 
carved  backs  and  their  cane  seats  and  cane  panels,  those 
chaste  pieces  of  Colonial  silver  faintly  illumining  the 
dark  buffet,  these  rugs,  soft  with  the  bloom  of  time, 
which  her  dainty  slippered  toe  pushed  around  on  the 
waxed  floor,  that  spreading  dome  of  topaz  glass  over- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  261 

hanging  the  dining  table,  and  these  Tiffany  lamps  shed- 
ding their  lovely  glow  of  daffodil  over  the  little  salon 
—  all  this  had  cost  a  great  deal  of  money! 

Spending,  acquiring  beautiful  things,  was,  of  course, 
one  of  the  principal  diversions  and  one  of  the  principal 
rewards  of  her  existence.  And  it  was  extraordinary 
how  rapidly  the  amount  of  money  she  required  had 
increased.  What  she  had  spent  a  year  ago,  six  months 
ago,  seemed  absurdly  inadequate  for  her  present  needs. 
And  here,  in  the  last  mail,  in  the  heart  of  a  whole 
sheaf  of  bills,  had  come  a  letter  from  Mr.  Van  Ant- 
werp, telling  her  that  it  looked  as  if  his  "  deal  "  was 
not  "  going  through,"  and  warning  her  about  her  ex- 
penditures —  warning  her  now,  just  when  her  expenses 
had  all  increased  —  and  these  unpaid  bills  !  After  all, 
what  right  had  a  man  to  expect  loyalty  from  a  woman 
in  her  position?  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  had  spent  a  lot 
of  money  on  her,  all  told,  but  what  sacrifices  would  he 
make  for  her?  Bah,  none!  And  why  should  she 
make  any  for  him? 

The  telephone-bell  rang.  "  Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  Lam- 
bright.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  this  is  she!  Who?  Miss 
Stark?  Oh,  well,  have  her  brought  up,"  she  answered, 
impatiently. 

She  had  never  been  back  to  the  house  in  the  West 
Thirties  since  the  day  she  left  it  and  put  Peter  in  a 
boarding-school  in  the  suburbs,  and  she  had  not  laid 
eyes  on  the  queer  old  woman,  mother  or  "  cousin  "  of 
Emma  Stark,  since  that  tragic  day  of  leave-taking. 
But  occasionally  Emma  came  to  see  her,  and  she  looked 
forward  to  seeing  her  at  the  present  moment  with  sen- 


262  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

sations    of    curiously    mixed    pleasure    and    vexation. 

Emma  had  come  dressed  in  her  Sunday  garments. 
She  always  came  so.  Once  it  had  made  Lydia  ashamed, 
but  now  Emma  in  her  Sunday  clothes  had  no  particular 
effect  on  her;  though  it  did  flash  through  her  that 
the  tight-fitting  black  jacket  Emma  wore  was  exceed- 
ingly like  the  jacket  she  had  worn  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  seen  her,  at  Miss  Tompkins',  almost  ten 
years  before;  and  that  the  small  black  velvet  hat, 
trimmed  with  a  cheap,  bedraggled  feather,  was  perched 
grotesquely  high  on  Emma's  head,  as  if  it  had  acci- 
dentally alighted  there,  exactly  as  the  little  black  sailor 
hat  had  been  perched  on  her  head  then. 

With  her  arm  around  her,  Lydia  led  her  through 
the  hall  into  the  softly  glowing  salon  and  seated  her  in 
a  luxurious  chair  upholstered  in  old-gold  moire. 

She  bolstered  herself  with  cushions  on  the  divan. 
Her  filmy,  clinging  black  gown  revealed  almost  identi- 
cally the  silhouette  of  her  girlhood,  slender  but  nowhere 
angular.  Diamonds  sparkled  on  her  breast  and  on 
her  restless  glancing  hands.  Her  lips  were  vivid  with 
blood  alone,  but  her  cheeks,  with  their  faint  depressions, 
showed  that  rouge  had  gone  to  assist  their  own  too- 
great  pallor. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  were  going  out  somewhere,  Lydia." 

"Oh,  no!"   ' 

"  Or  expecting  company,"  faltered  Emma.  "  Per- 
haps I'd  better  go,  and  come  back  another  evening." 
She  made  a  movement  to  rise,  but  Lydia  with  smiling 
force  held  her  in  her  chair. 

"  Sit  still,   Emma !     I've  been  hoping  you'd  come 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  263 

ever  since  I  got  back,  and  I'm  awfully  glad  of  an  op- 
portunity to  sit  still  myself.  I'm  dreadfully  tired! 
I've  been  rushing  around  every  minute  since  I  landed, 
getting  things  settled.  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my 
new  apartment?  " 

Emma,  sitting  uncomfortably  in  her  fine  chair,  was 
taking  in  the  unreal  splendour  of  her  surroundings  with 
dazed  eyes.  "  Oh,  Lydia,  I  never  s*een  such  a  pretty 
place !  "  she  replied,  at  last.  But  fear,  and  even  pity, 
a  sort  of  divinely  patient  pity,  tinge.d  her  eyes. 

Lydia  read  the  expression  with  a  feeling  of  irrita- 
tion. But  she  chattered  gaily  about  places  she  had 
recently  visited,  about  little  things  that  had  happened 
on  her  voyage,  going  and  coming,  and  about  trifling 
experiences,  amusing  or  annoying,  she  had  had  in  set- 
tling her  new  apartment.  She  showed  her  some  Eu- 
ropean postcards,  in  which  Emma  took  a  mild  but 
polite  interest. 

Ill 

"How's  Peter?"  Emma  asked  shyly,  when  the 
postcards  had  been  exhausted.  There  was  a  certain 
timid  deference  never  absent  from  her  manner  to  Lydia. 

"  Peter?     He's  flourishing." 

"  Has  he  been  in  to  see  you,  since  you  came  back?  " 

"  No,  not  yet.  He's  coming  Saturday,  to  spend  the 
day  with  me."  She  hoped  Emma  would  not  ask  her 
if  she  had  been  out  to  see  him  since  her  return.  She 
had  not  been,  because  he  was  more  contented  when  she 
did  not  visit  him  or  let  him  visit  her  too  frequently,  and 
perhaps  she,  too,  was  more  contented  the  less  she  saw 
of  him. 


264  THE  SEA8  OF  GOD 

"  Are  you  still  pleased  with  the  school,  Lydia?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  all  right.  Peter's  well  —  that's  the 
main  thing.  And  I  guess  he's  learning  a  little  —  the 
names  of  the  Saints,  anyway!  "  She  laughed  a  trifle 
uneasily.  "  But  come,  I'll  show  you  something!  " 

She  rose  from  the  divan  and  led  the  way  into  the 
hall. 

"  Oh,  wait  a  minute,  let  me  get  the  key." 

She  returned  with  a  key,  unlocked  a  door  next  the 
door  that  led  into  the  salon,  and  turned  on  the  lights. 
The  room  was  full  of  games  and  toys. 

Emma  stared  in  astonishment. 

"  You  see  I  haven't  forgotten  Peter!  Won't  he  go 
wild  when  he  sees  it?  " 

"Is  he  going  to  stay  with  you  —  here?"  gasped 
Emma. 

Lydia  shot  a  swift,  resentful  glance  at  her.  Some- 
times Emma  infuriated  her.  "  He's  not  to  spend  the 
night,"  she  rejoined  sharply.  "  It's  just  a  room  for 
him  to  have  for  his,  when  he  comes  in  to  see  me." 

On  the  floor  was  a  gay  Navajo  blanket,  and  on  the 
blanket  in  a  big  coil  were  yards  of  miniature  railroad 
track,  and  a  miniature  engine.  "  It  runs  by  electricity. 
Isn't  it  clever?"  Already  her  tone  was  kind  again; 
she  was  sorry  that  she  had  spoken  angrily  to  Emma  the 
moment  before.  "  When  Peter  comes,  he  can  roll  up 
the  rug  and  lay  the  track  out  on  the  bare  floor.  I  knew 
he'd  want  to  do  that  himself." 

"  Does  Peter  know  about  it?  "  asked  Emma,  her  face 
painfully  flushed. 

"  No.     It  will  all  be  a  surprise  to  him  when  he  comes 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  265 

Saturday!  Look!"  Lydia  pointed  to  the  broad 
frieze  of  the  wall-paper.  Indians  in  war-paint, 
mounted  on  lean,  fiery  ponies,  were  tearing  around  the 
four  walls  of  the  room. 

"  You  can  almost  hear  their  war-whoops,  can't  you? 
Peter  will  go  mad  for  joy  when  he  sees  them!  "  She 
said  it  almost  wistfully. 

Emma  walked  from  one  thing  to  another  in  the  room, 
looking  at  them  with  a  sort  of  stupefaction.  She  tried 
to  smile,  but  she  said  nothing  except  that  now  and  then 
she  uttered  a  faint,  involuntary  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. 

On  a  table  in  front  of  the  double  windows  was  a 
large  rectangular  aquarium.  Gold  and  silver  fishes 
were  swimming  about  in  it,  and  in  and  out  of  the  win- 
dows of  the  toy  castle  on  its  pebbly  bottom. 

"  See  the  two  little  turtles,  Emma?  And  the  polly- 
wogs  and  the  snails?  Oh,  I  had  them  put  in  just 
everything.  Peter  won't  have  to  go  down  to  the  Bat- 
tery Aquarium  now,  will  he?  He'll  have  an  aquarium 
of  his  own!  " 

They  turned  away  to  another  larger  table,  on  which 
was  an  array  of  lead  soldiers.  They  were  waiting  for 
Peter's  hand  to  lead  them  into  action.  "  He  won't  see 
another  thing  in  the  room,"  said  Lydia,  "  when  he 
catches  sight  of  these!  " 

'  That's  right,  for  sure !  Peter  always  loved  sol- 
diers the  best  of  anything!"  Emma  answered  softly. 
It  was  the  longest  speech  she  had  made  since  Lydia  ush- 
ered her  into  the  room. 

Lydia  avoided  moments  of  reflection  as  she  would 


266  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

have  avoided  a  plague,  but,  unbidden  and  overpower- 
ingly  strong,  came  to  her  now  the  memory  of  Peter  in 
the  old  days  gazing  yearningly  into  the  shop  windows 
at  little  lead  soldiers  and  tiny  lead  cannon  like  these. 
A  vision,  both  sweet  and  cruel,  rose  before  her  of  that 
little  Peter  in  his  shabby,  outgrown  reefer,  hotly  grasp- 
ing her  hand  as  they  looked  together  into  the  shop 
windows,  those  clear  eyes  of  Peter  upturned  to  hers, 
and  his  trustful,  "  You'll  get  them  for  me  some  day, 
won't  you,  Mother?  "  And  she  had  got  them  for  him 
—  at  last!  But,  oh,  God,  how  had  she  got  them? 

She  linked  her  arm  in  Emma's  —  it  was  good  to  feel 
Emma's  arm  in  hers.  Emma  could  make  her  angry, 
but  she  was  the  one  person  in  the  world  she  trusted 
entirely. 

All  at  once,  Lydia  felt  something  give  way  within 
her.  Her  eyes  were  brilliant  and  dry  and  tearless,  but 
she  felt  that  in  another  moment  her  heart's  anguish 
must  break  forth.  She  dared  not  remain  an  instant 
longer  in  Peter's  room.  The  ghastliness  of  having  such 
a  room  —  here  —  in  this  apartment ! 

She  hurried  Emma  out  of  the  room,  locked  the  door, 
and  dropped  the  key  into  a  small  drawer  in  the  dress- 
ing-table in  her  bedroom.  She  did  not  want  to  sit 
down  and  talk  to  her,  but  Emma  took  the  chair  she 
offered  her,  and  she  felt  compelled  to  sit  down,  too. 
After  a  moment's  forced  talk,  she  rose,  walked  over 
to  the  chiffonier  and  took  out  some  packages. 

"  I  thought  My  Old  might  like  this,"  she  said,  un- 
folding a  silk  shawl  with  deep  fringe,  and  holding  it  up. 
"  You  take  it  to  her  with  my  love,  Emma." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  267 

"  Oh,  Lydia,  it's  too  handsome !  " 

"  No,  no,  it  isn't !  She  can  put  it  away  in  her  drawer 
and  look  at  it,  if  she  doesn't  want  to  wear  it.  This  is 
for  you,"  opening  a  case  and  handing  Emma  a  brooch 
in  the  design  of  a  butterfly.  "  I  got  it  in  Paris  .  .  . 
and  these  souvenir  spoons,  one  for  each  of  you,  are 
from  the  Fatherland.  Oh,  don't  thank  me  —  Here's 
the  mail!  " 

She  glanced  carelessly  at  the  envelopes  a  bell-boy 
brought  in,  except  one,  which  she  tore  open. 

"  It's  from  Peter.     He  writes  such  funny  letters!  " 

She  spread  out  the  pages  of  Peter's  scrawled,  ink- 
splotched  epistle,  and  read  aloud: 

"  Dear  Mother: 

"  I  was  terbil  homesick  for  you  yestarday  and  last 
night.  I  have  got  an  awful  toothache.  I  got  5$  you 
sent.  I  want  to  see  you  so  bad.  Let  me  come  Sat- 
erday  sure.  There  is  a  store  here  now.  they  sell 
candy  cake  pie  and  a  number  of  little  refreshments. 
I  will  write  you  a  short  letter  every  day  and  put  them 
together  it  will  make  a  great  big  letter.  I  want  you 
to  do  the  same.  You  havent  done  as  you  promised 
me  you  don't  write  me  hardly  ever.  Only  if  you  only 
say  hellow  I  will  be  glad  to  get  it.  I  wish  I  could 
see  your  face  just  in  one  look  for  one  minute,  it  seems 
as  if  you  didn't  care  much  about  me.  you  dont  let  me 
be  with  you  even  in  vacashun  times  you  dont  seem  ever 
to  want  me.  I  am  very  tired  every  night  and  have  to 
'be  woke  up  with  two  shakes  in  the  morning  to  get  my 
eyes  open.  It  dont  seem  true  I  am  going  to  see  you 


268  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Saterday.  I  am  afraid  mebbe  I  dreamed  it  but 
Brother  said  you  wrote  I  could  come  to  you  Saterday. 
1  can  find  your  new  house.  Don't  worry  I  can  find 
any  place  you  are.  I  wish  you  would  have  a  picture 
taken  and  put  it  in  a  locket.  I  would  always  have  it 
next  my  heart.  I  mean  it  to.  its  seirous. 

"  PETER  LAMBRIGHT, 
"  your  loveing  son. 

"  P.S.     How  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  tonight. 

"  P.S.     Good  luck  to  you." 

Before  Lydia  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  it  did 
not  seem  funny  to  her.  She  had  hardened  herself  to 
countless  things,  but  lines  like  these  from  one  of  Peter's 
untidy  letters  were  stabs  in  her  heart.  She  had  become 
very  pale  except  for  the  rouged  spots  on  her  cheeks,  and 
the  hands  that  held  Peter's  letter  were  trembling  vis- 
ibly. She  had  often  had  letters  from  Peter  like  this 
.  .  .  what  was  the  matter  with  her?  .  .  . 

Emma  sprang  from  her  chair. 

"  Lydia,  are  you  sick?  "  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks.  "Lay  down  on  the  bed!  "  She  stroked  Ly* 
dia's  half-bare  arm  with  her  big,  rough  hand. 

"  I'm  all  right.  .  .  .  It's  over  now.  I'm  always  let- 
ting myself  get  too  tired."  Lydia  smiled.  "  Don't 
let  Peter's  letter  worry  you,  Emma.  All  children  at 
boarding-school  are  like  that,  homesick  more  or  less." 
It  consoled  her  slightly  to  speak  consolingly  to  Emma. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  have  him  with  me." 

Emma  nodded.     "  Of  course  not." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  269 

They  had  never  before  spoken  to  each  other  can- 
didly with  regard  to  Lydia's  situation. 

"  The  little  fellow's  better  off  with  the  Brothers," 
said  Emma,  looking  at  Lydia  with  an  odd,  steadfast 
look. 

Lydia  turned  her  eyes  away  uneasily,  and  glanced 
openly  at  the  little  boudoir  clock  among  the  fittings  of 
her  dressing  table. 


CHAPTER  VII 


AS  she  let  Emma  out  of  the  door,  Lydia  admitted  a 
youngish  man  in  evening  dress.  He  raised  her 
fingers  to  his  lips  in  the  foreign  manner  and  kissed  them 
fervidly.  His  red  lips  were  in  striking,  almost  dis- 
quieting contrast  to  his  milky  skin  and  blond  beard. 

He  removed  his  overcoat  and  put  it  on  a  chair  with 
his  hat  and  gloves,  and  then  turned  and  placed  his  hands 
lightly  on  her  flimsily  clad  arms. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  my  existence !  "  she 
said.  "Where  have  you  been,  if  I  may  inquire?  " 

"  The  same  place  you've  been  —  Paris !  "  There 
was  a  slight  defect  in  his  speech,  akin  to  a  lisp.  "  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  you  one  afternoon,  about  a  month 
ago,  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  —  going  into  Rumpel- 
mayer's." 

"  Really?  —  But  you're  ambiguous,  my  dear  man  — 
you  or  I  going  into  Rumpelmayer's?  " 

"  You." 

"  So  near  me,  and  didn't  reveal  yourself!  " 

"  You  were  well  cavaliered,"  he  replied,  a  little  off- 
ishly,  dropping  his  hands  from  her. 

She  made  a  slight  grimace,  and  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. She  had  played  fast  and  loose  with  this  man, 
blown  hot  and  cold  on  him,  and  he  still  endured  it, 

270 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  271 

though  always  with  the  manner  of  a  grudge  against  her. 
She  did  not  know  how  much  longer  he  would  endure  it, 
and  did  not  care  greatly,  except  that  he  was  a  man  of 
fortune,  without  ties,  frankly  infatuated  with  her  — 
and  she  was  in  desperate  need  of  money!  Consider- 
ing everything,  she  had  best  be  very  charming  this 
evening,  not  allow  herself  any  caprices  with  him,  any 
captiousness. 

"  I  have  only  a  moment,"  he  remarked,  running  his 
fingers  caressingly  through  his  long  hair.  "  I  am  on 
my  way  to  the  Opera. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  following  her  into  the  little 
salon.  "Lovely!  You've  really  shown  taste!" 

"It  surprises  you  —  that  I  should  show  taste!" 
She  laughed,  but  her  eyes  were  keen,  almost  hostile. 

He  folded  his  arms,  assumed  an  attitude,  and  looked 
around  him  critically  —  all  his  mannerisms  were  absurd 
and  disagreeable  to  her. 

"  You've  attained  splendour,  in  a  small  way,  without 
tawdriness,"  he  pronounced  gravely. 

"Tawdriness!  Tawdriness!"  she  repeated,  mock- 
ingly. 

She  lit  a  cigarette  and  threw  herself  upon  the  divan. 
Her  hair,  catching  a  light  from  above,  was  like  a  net  of 
gold.  She  swung  her  elevated  foot  in  its  black  satin 
slipper  with  the  extravagantly  high  heel,  a  brilliant  scar- 
let heel,  back  and  forth  impatiently. 

"Tawdriness!     You  expected  tawdriness?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that."  He  scowled  at  her  slightly, 
and  continued  to  examine  the  furnishings  of  the  rooms 
that  were  open  to  his  view. 


272  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Tawdriness !  "  she  said,  going  back  to  the  word, 
and  pronouncing  it  slowly.  '  Your  sense  of  the  fitness 
of  things  suggests,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Beauvais,  that  a 
cage,  a  cage  like  mine  —  a  gilded  cage,  in  the  popular 
phrase  —  ought  to  be  tawdry !  Refined  taste  seems 
hardly  compatible  —  eh?"  With  the  cigarette  be- 
tween her  fingers,  she  let  the  smoke  issue  toward  him 
impudently  through  her  closed  teeth.  Her  vivid  lips 
were  apart  and  smiling,  but  there  was  a  cynical  gleam 
in  her  eyes. 

He  looked  puzzled,  and  a  little  disgusted. 

"  4  Why  do  you  want  to  be  —  so  unnecessarily 
nasty?' — why  don't  you  ask  me  that?  I  can  see 
you're  thinking  it!  I've  shocked  your  delicate  sensi- 
bilities, haven't  I,  dear?" 

"Are  you  trying  to  insult  me?"  he  asked  slowly, 
his  lisp  distinctly  noticeable.  "  I  didn't  stop  here  this 
evening  to  be  insulted." 

She  rose  abruptly  from  the  divan  and  approached 
him  with  a  little  fluttering,  undulating  movement. 

"Oh,  it  was  just  foolery!  I'm  going  to  be  good, 
now,  very,  very  good !  I  don't  know  what  made  me  so 
horrid!  "  She  touched  her  fingers  to  his  cheek.  "  I 
must  be  a  nice,  gracious  hostess,  mustn't  I  ?  —  my 
house-warming,  too!  Now,  you're  aesthetic,  Louis," 
she  went  on;  "  studied  at  the  Beaux  Arts  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  —  what  about  my  rugs?  I  crave  your 
opinion  of  them !  No  reds  or  blues,  you  see !  " 

Flicking  an  ash  from  her  cigarette,  she  pointed  out 
with  the  toe  of  her  slipper  the  orange,  the  pale  yellows, 
faded  greens,  and  patches  of  black  in  the  velvety  sur- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  273 

faces  of  the  three  rugs  that  lay  rather  far  apart  on  the 
polished  floor.  "What  do  you  think  of  them?" 

He  continued  to  look  wounded,  but  gave  her  his 
opinion  of  the  rugs  —  launched  into  a  dissertation  on 
Oriental  rugs. 

She  knew  he  was  happy  now  —  soberly  riding  a 
hobby. 

"  They're  rather  exceptionally  good  —  in  colouring. 
You  must  have  spent  some  time  finding  them  — " 

"  More  than  time!  In  fact — "  She  held  the  gilt 
tip  of  her  half-smoked  cigarette  rakishly  between  her 
lips.  "  In  fact,  I'm  thinking  of  going  into  the  hands 
of  a  receiver!  Are  you  qualified  for  receivership, 
Louis?"  She  was  very  close  to  him,  she  knew  the 
perfume  of  her  was  in  his  susceptible  nostrils,  and  she 
pressed  her  advantage.  She  looked  at  him  tantalis- 
ingly. 

".Lydia  .  .  ."     He  held  out  his  arms. 

She  felt  as  if  she  could  not  endure  the  panting  ardour 
of  his  face,  at  once  so  anasmic,  so  sensual.  But  she  did 
not  move. 

"  Debts,  too,  Louis?  "  she  asked,  with  an  arch,  daz- 
zling smile. 

"You  know  the  conditions!  "  he  answered  whisper- 
ingly.  "I  won't  share  you!"  The  veins  stood  out 
blue  and  prominent  on  his  white  forehead. 

She  looked  at  him  without  flinching,  her  bare  white 
breast  rising  and  falling  rapidly. 

All  at  once,  her  hate  of  the  man  rose  in  her  over- 
poweringly,  hatred  of  his  soft,  womanish  flesh,  of  his 
small  feet  —  of  which,  oh,  disgust  of  disgusts !  —  he 


274  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

was  proud  —  hatred  of  his  blond  beard,  of  his  silky, 
self-adored  locks,  hatred,  unbounded  contempt,  for 
something  in  the  man's  character !  Swift  as  thought 
her  mood  changed. 

"  Come  —  let  me  show  you  something!  " 

He  followed  her. 

"  Look !  "  She  pointed  to  a  big  carved  chest  of  dark 
wood  that  stood  one  side  of  the  chimney  in  the  dining 
room. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  lifting  the  heavy  lid,  "  it's 
big  enough  for  a  sarcophagus !  " 

She  closed  the  chest,  and  seated  herself  on  it. 

The  man  stood  in  front  of  her,  his  arms  folded,  wait- 
ing to  see  her  whim  revealed,  an  expression  in  his  eyes 
of  mingled  desire  and  resentment. 

"  Do  you  remember  a  story  about  a  bride  long  ago 
in  Italy — Chiding  in  a  chest  like  this,  during  her  wed- 
ding revelry,  when  they  were  playing  hide-and-seek? 
And  the  chest  locking  on  her?  And  years  afterwards, 
her  skeleton,  wrapped  in  bridal  finery,  discovered  in 
the  chest?  Do  you  remember  that  story?  .  .  .  Well, 
some  day  I'm  going  to  crawl  into  this  chest,  and  let  the 
lid  drop !  "  She  was  slipping  her  rings  up  and  down  on 
her  trembling  fingers. 

"  Are  you  losing  your  mind?  " 

"  I  hope  so!  "     She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

But  as  he  made  a  movement  of  annoyance,  a  move- 
ment to  leave,  she  put  out  her  hand.  "  Listen ! 
listen!  You  must  hear  me !"  Her  cheeks  were  flam- 
ing with  more  than  rouge  now.  "  My  maid  will  come 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  275 

some  morning,  and  there'll  be  no  trace  of  where  I've 
gone  .  .  ." 

"  Haven't  you  derived  enough  entertainment,  now, 
from  this  fantastic  talk  you're  indulging  in?  "  he  asked, 
freezingly.  "  I  didn't  stop  here  this  evening  to  be 
treated  to  this  — " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not !  "  she  interrupted  him,  with 
a  slight  sneer.  "  But  now  you're  here,  let  me  show  you 
it's  true  —  that  it's  large  enough  to  hold  me !  "  She 
got  up  from  the  chest,  and  put  her  hands  on  the  lid 
to  lift  it  again,  but  he  restrained  her,  turning  her  around 
to  face  him. 

"What  sort  of  silliness  is  this?     Are  you  mad?" 

"Yes,  a  little  mad!"  She  laughed  scornfully  in 
his  face,  and  shook  off  his  hands.  "  But  what  I  want 
to  ask  you  is  —  does  it  occur  to  you  how  uncomfortable 
you'll  be,  when  you  read  the  news  of  my  disappearance, 
knowing  that  I'm  shut  up  here,  dead,  in  this?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  positive  stupefaction. 

"  Will  you  come  back  to  this  little  appartement  de 
jole,  point  out  this  chest,  and  say  — '  Here  she  is,  in 
this  chest,  poor  little  thing  1  /  knew  her !  '  Will  you 
come  back  and  say  it?  No!  —  Oh,  I  know  you  — 
you're  all  alike !  Your  dear,  pure,  innocent,  protected 
aunts  and  cousins  and  sisters  and  mothers  and  wives 
might  hear  of  it!  " 

All  her  smouldering  bitterness  at  her  position  had 
burst  into  blaze,  her  bitterness  toward  the  class  of 
women  from  which  she  felt  herself  forever  ostracised. 

She  laughed  hysterically.     "  Amusing,  isn't  it?  " 


276  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

His  look  of  stupefaction  had  grown  to  one  of  alarm. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  ask  me  to  give  you  everything,  every- 
thing I  have  to  give !  "  Her  voice  for  the  first  time 
threatened  to  break.  "  You  ask  me  to  give  you  every- 
thing, and  the  one  thing  I  want  in  the  world,  you 
wouldn't  give  me  —  the  chance  to  be  some  one  again ! 
I  know !  I  know !  You  want  me  to  give  you  all  of  me, 
all  I  have  to  give  —  my  soul's  lost  —  but  my  body 
...  all  for  you  .  .  .  for  you  alone  .  .  .  and  then 
you  —  Oh,  why  do  I  talk?  "  She  covered  her  burning 
face. 

"You're  not  yourself  —  you're  dissipating  too 
much." 

She  dropped  her  hands  from  her  face. 

"  I  was  never  more  myself,"  she  answered  calmly. 

"  You're  drinking  too  much,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  I  haven't  been  drinking.  It  isn't  drink."  She 
sighed  deeply.  The  fire  and  contempt  had  gone  com- 
pletely out  of  her  eyes.  She  felt  extraordinary  ex- 
haustion. 

He  eyed  her  curiously.  u  How  many  persons  are 
you,  Lydia  ?  " 

"  Several,"  she  answered  nonchalantly. 

II 

They  returned  to  the  salon,  and  he  seated  himself 
beside  her  on  the  divan,  protesting  he  must  be  gone, 
but  lingering. 

Suddenly  and  irrelevantly,  she  remarked;  "I 
haven't  any  books,  you  see,  not  a  book !  " 

She  waved  her  hand  through  the  rooms. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  277 

"Not  a  book!  To  some  people,  a  book  is  like  a 
pipe  of  opium  —  they  read  to  forget!  But  I  can't 
read  that  way!  I  must  be  at  peace,  before  I  can  read! 
When  I  sit  down  now  with  a  book,  instead  of  forget- 
ting, I  begin  to  remember !  So  I  don't  read  now  —  I 
just  live,  live ! 

"  I  don't  read  books  any  longer,"  she  went  on  wildly, 
"  but  I'm  going  to  write  a  book  — '  My  Apologia  '  1 
It  will  be  a  thick  volume,  perfectly  candid  .  .  .  furnish 
data  .  .  ." 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  now?  "  he  asked, 
his  brows  knit,  his  nostrils  distended. 

"Nonsense?" 

He  rose,  and  moved  hurriedly  toward  the  hall,  mum- 
bling— "  I've  had  enough  of  this!  " 

She  leaned  forward  on  the  divan,  bathed  in  the  mel- 
low light  of  the  lamps,  the  slim  grace  of  her  black 
figur^  sharply  defined  against  the  soft  golden  back- 
ground of  the  cushions  behind  her.  There  were  bril- 
liant spots  of  colour  in  the  picture  she  made  —  her  lips, 
her  cheeks,  her  high  scarlet  heels. 

The  man  was  departing  from  her  in  wrath;  she  ab- 
solutely detested  him  —  but  perhaps  she  had  gone  too 
far!  Not  yet  was  she  ready  to  burn  her  bridges  be- 
hind her.  Not  yet  could  she  dispense  with  him! 

"Louis!"  she  called  after  him,  softly,  but  imper- 
iously. 

He  did  not  answer. 

She  rose  and  passed  swiftly  into  the  hall,  where  he 
was  lifting  his  overcoat  from  the  chair.  .  .  .  She  knew 
the  witchery  she  could  summon  at  will  .  .  .  she  knew 


278  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

his  vanity  and  the  magic  words  with  which  to  woo  him 
back  .  .  .  she  knew  her  beauty  .  .  .  knew  the  terri- 
ble, remorseless  power  she  could  exert  .  .  .  knew  the 
male  —  the  eternal  masculine  .  .  . 

ill 

"  Where  does  this  door  lead  to?  "  he  asked,  pausing 
at  a  closed  door  in  the  hall,  as  she  accompanied  him  to 
the  outer  door  of  her  apartment,  when  he  was  leaving. 

"  To  a   closet,"   she   replied  quickly. 

"A  closet?"  He  measured  with  his  eye  the  wall 
space  that  extended  beyond  the  door.  "  I  don't  see 
how  it  can  be  merely  a  closet."  He  turned  the  door 
knob.  "  Why  do  you  keep  it  locked?  " 

"Would  you  like  to  look  in?  I  advise  you  not  to 
insist!  You  remember  Bluebeard's  secret  chamber! 
Well,  there  might  be  a  row  of  men,  hung  up  in  here  — 
by  their  beards !  " 

With  laughter  and  jest  she  drew  him  on,  past  the 
locked  door. 

But  when  the  last  clasp  of  his  moist,  nerveless  hand 
had  been  endured,  when  the  door  had  clicked  behind 
him,  and  she  had  heard  the  elevator  door  open  and 
slam  shut,  and  knew  that  he  was  descending,  gone  .  .  . 
she  leaned  wearily  against  the  wall,  filled  with  loathing 
of  him,  profound  loathing  of  her  life  .  .  .  deathly  dis- 
gust with  existence. 

She  almost  reeled  along  the  dim  hall  till  she  reached 
the  locked  door  of  Peter's  room.  There,  with  her 
hand  on  the  doorknob,  a  crushing  wave  of  homesick- 
ness for  Peter  swept  over  her.  In  all  the  big,  dark, 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  279 

hideous  universe  there  was  but  one  spot  of  clean,  shin- 
ing light  —  Peter,  looking  up  at  her  with  trusting,  ador- 
ing eyes. 

She  could  see  a  big  dormitory,  a  dim  night-light  burn- 
ing in  it,  a  brother  in  black  womanish  garments  gliding 
along  stealthily  between  the  rows  of  narrow  white  beds, 
Peter's  big  shock  head  on  one  of  the  pillows,  and  the 
pillow  wet  with  tears  —  Peter's  homesick  tears !  Her 
very  heart  was  being  torn  out  of  her  body. 

Those  scrawled  post-scripts  in  Peter's  dirty,  blotted 
little  letter  stood  out  to  her — "  Good  luck  to  you!  " 
— "  How  I  wish  I  could  be  with  you  to-night !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 


IN  the  mood  of  despair  that  had  followed  that  mood 
of  remorse,  that  longing  to  be  delivered  from  her 
life  —  a  man's  voice  over  the  telephone  had  asked  her 
to  meet  him,  and  she  had  seized  the  suggestion  eagerly. 
She  could  not  remain  in  her  apartment,  alone  with  her 
frenzied  thoughts. 

They  were  in  a  small  private  room  of  a  restaurant, 
and  she  was  talking  gaily.  Her  companion  was  a 
hunchback.  He  was  dressed  conspicuously,  as  though 
out  of  sheer  bravado  to  court  attention  to  his  deform- 
ity; a  diamond  flashed  from  his  shirt  front,  and  a  dia- 
mond and  ruby  ring  blazed  on  one  of  his  large,  finely- 
formed,  hairy  hands.  Across  the  room,  he  produced 
a  curious  effect  of  being  a  young  man,  almost  a  boy, 
but  near,  he  was  seen  to  be  almost  an  old  man.  The 
unmistakable  and  touching  mark  of  the  hunchback  was 
upon  his  face. 

Lydia  knew  very  little  about  him,  except  that  his 
name  was  Faidley,  that  his  home  was  in  the  West,  that 
he  was  rich,  that  he  drank  heavily  and  spent  money 
recklessly.  She  knew  him  through  Mr.  Van  Antwerp, 
who  had  brought  him  to  see  her  with  the  idea  that 
Faidley's  frank,  erratic  talk  would  amuse  her. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  281 

At  present,  Faidley  was  far  advanced  in  intoxication, 
though  at  intervals  talking  lucidly,  even  luminously. 

He  had  ordered  a  number  of  expensive  dishes,  which 
Lydia  had  barely  touched,  and  he  had  not  touched  at 
all. 

The  door  into  the  hall  opened  now  and  again,  to 
admit  a  waiter,  or  the  obsequious  manager.  Faidley 
was  giving  them  enormous  tips  for  the  most  trifling 
services  —  flourishing  his  great  roll  of  bills. 

"Witch!"  he  exclaimed,  when  the  manager  and 
waiter  had  both  withdrawn,  "  witch,  so  old  Van  let  you 
come  home  from  Europe  ahead  of  him,  did  he? 
Damned  if  I'd  let  you  out  of  my  sight,  witch,  if  you 
were  mine !  " 

He  cocked  his  grey,  curly  head  on  one  side,  a  sly, 
humorous  expression  in  his  blurred  eyes.  "  Too 
damned  pretty,  you  are,  little  one."  He-  chuckled  and 
nodded  his  head  at  her  in  an  admiring  but  thoroughly 
maudlin  fashion.  "  Too  damned  pretty  1  " 

Lydia  leaned  back  against  the  glistening  lining  of 
her  velvet  cloak,  hung  over  her  chair,  and  laughed 
across  the  table  at  him.  She  wore  a  wide  hat  of  dark 
velvet,  with  a  snowy  plume. 

"  Where'd  old  Van  find  you,  kitten  ?  He  won't  tell ! 
Heh?  You  won't  tell,  either?  " 

He  began  talking  half  to  himself,  looking  down  into 
the  glass  he  had  drained  and  was  handling  shakily. 
"You're  a  rare  one,  kitten  —  you're  the  blue  flower 
in  the  garden  of  sports.  You're  from  good  people, 
too,  good  people  .  .  .  good  people.  .  .  ."  He  kept 
repeating  it,  smiling  knowingly. 


282  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?  Hands  and  ears,  that's  how  I 
know  I  They  tell  blood  every  time !  " 

He  fell  into  a  revery. 

"  Old  Van  trots  us  all  out  to  see  you,"  he  resumed. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up.  "  You  know  that  girl  shot 
herself?" 

Lydia  started. 

"  Hah,  what's  the  matter  with  me?  I  mustn't  make 
injudicious — injudicious" — he  had  difficulty  in  pro- 
nouncing the  word  to  his  satisfaction  — "  injudicious  — 
that's  it!  —  disclosures!  .  .  .  But  don't  you  ever 
shoot  yourself  on  Van's  account,  kitten  —  hear  me? 
He  ain't  worth  it;  we  ain't  any  of  us  worth  it,  comes 
to  that!  But  I  see  one  of  the  dears  shooting  herself 
for  me!  "  He  laughed  ironically,  broke  off  laughing, 
and  seemed  to  meditate  an  instant.  Then,  "  Drink, 
drink  your  wine,  Lydia !  "  he  said  peevishly.  "  Brace 
up,  brace  up !  " 

Exhorting  her  to  "  brace  up,"  he  settled  into  a  more 
hopeless  heap  himself. 

II 

Lydia  had  seen  men  intoxicated,  but  never  before 
been  alone  with  a  man  so  abjectly  drunk  as  Faidley 
now.  In  a  thick,  barely  -intelligible  utterance,  he  was 
flattering  her  in  one  breath,  half-humorously  berat- 
ing her  and  trying  to  quarrel  with  her  in  the  next.  It 
was  a  question  only  of  moments  now  before  he  would 
be  on  the  floor.  She  was  by  no  means  certain  of  her 
own  movements  —  the  walls  of  the  room  were  swim- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  283 

ming  round  her  —  but  she  summoned  her  scattering 
wits,  and  touched  a  button. 

"  Bring  a  pot  of  coffee,  very  strong,  the  strongest 
you  can  get!  "  she  ordered  the  waiter,  indicating  with 
her  eyes  the  figure  of  Faidley,  who  was  resting  his 
head  on  the  table,  his  grotesquely  long  arms  sprawled 
across  it  in  an  attitude  that  hinted  at  collapse. 

The  hunchback  paid  no  attention  to  the  waiter's 
presence,  or  to  Lydia's  order  to  him.  But  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  when  the  manager  came  into  the  room, 
with  the  waiter  and  coffee,  and  held  a  whispered  con- 
ference with  her,  he  lifted  his  head,  and  poured  forth 
a  torrent  of  profane  abuse. 

"  Think  I'm  drunk,  do  you?" 

Lydia  laid  her  hands  on  his  and  talked  to  him 
coaxingly.  "  Have  your  coffee,  now  —  please !  Oh, 
please  —  with  me !  I  don't  want  to  drink  mine  alone. 
Let  me  pour  you  a  cup." 

Kte  smiled  at  her,  a  foolish,  befogged  smile.  Then 
an  idea  struck  him,  and  abruptly  pulling  himself  to- 
gether, he  sat  up,  and  began  articulating  indistinctly 
but  with  vehemence — "  Give  me  that  —  give  me  that 
—  damned  pot  of  coffee  I  " 

Lydia  made  a  sign  to  the  waiter,  and  he  hurriedly 
rearranged  things,  setting  the  metal  pot  and  the  small, 
heavy  cups  in  front  of  the  hunchback. 

To  her  consternation,  Faidley  lifted  the  pot  as  high 
as  his  long  arm  would  extend,  and  poured  the  coffee 
in  a  wavering,  splashing  stream  down  into  the  cup. 
She  sprang  back,  as  the  scalding  liquid  glanced  on  her 
bodice  and  dropped  on  her  hands.  It  was  useless  to 


284  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

interfere;  Faidley  had  the  coffee  pot  in  his  possession; 
it  was  his  whim  to  handle  it;  and  although  deformed, 
he  had  the  broad  shoulders  and  strong  arms  of  a  big, 
normally-built  man;  he  was  enormously  strong;  and 
with  the  temporary  revival  of  his  physical  and  mental 
faculties,  he  was  eager  for  trouble.  He  poured  a  sec- 
ond cup,  laughing  with  demoniac  glee.  Lydia  also 
laughed.  It  was  a  ridiculous  if  disgusting  sight. 

Suddenly  he  was  seized  with  violent  hiccoughs. 
"Pretty  sight,  eh?  —  ain't  it?  .  .  .  pretty  sight  —  a 
hunchback  in  his  cups,"  laughing  bitterly  between  his 
hiccoughs. 

He  turned  to  the  manager,  who  was  asking  instruc- 
tions of  Lydia  with  his  eyes. 

"  Get  out  of  here !  "  he  bellowed.  And  he  flew  into 
a  rage  again,  quarrelling  and  cursing.  But  before  the 
manager  and  waiter  had  left  the  room,  he  pulled  out 
his  big  roll  of  money,  and,  with  contemptuous  good- 
humour,  tossed  a  bill  at  each  of  them. 

"  Here,  give  me  your  money !  I'll  keep  it  for  you !  " 
Lydia  said  softly,  when  they  were  gone.  "  You're 
throwing  it  away!  I'll  keep  it  for  you  I  " 

"  You  keep  it  for  me  .  .  .  you  keep  it  for  me  .  .  ." 
he  muttered  thickly.  He  handed  the  roll  of  bills  to 
her  without  protest.  And  she  thrust  it  down  into  the 
open  bosom  of  her  bodice.  She  felt  it  there,  against 
her  fevered,  naked  flesh  —  a  hard,  unyielding,  tanta- 
lising mass. 

She  was  anxious  now  to  sober  him  sufficiently  to  get 
him  away  and  back  to  the  old-fashioned  hotel  where  he 
always  stopped  and  where  she  knew  he  would  be  well 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  285 

taken  care  of  till  he  was  himself  again.  She  made  him 
drink  cup  after  cup  of  black  coffee,  calling  several  times 
for  a  fresh  pot. 

"  How  much  more  ...  of  this  stuff  .  .  .  are  you 
going  to  make  me  take  ?  "  he  asked,  at  length.  His 
blood-streaked  eyes  were  shot  with  amusement.  "  I'm 
floating  now.  Why,  good  God  A'mighty,  I'm  floating 

—  in  a  sea  of  coffee !  " 

For  a  little  while,  he  had  better  command  of  himself. 
He  expressed  himself  more  coherently,  cursing  his  de- 
formity, and  blaming  on  it  his  beastly  lapses. 

'  What  difference  does  it  make,  anyway?  Who  re- 
spects Alex  Faidley  —  more  than  they  would  a  cursed 
little  Jack-in-the-box  ?  See  here  —  ain't  that  so  ? 
And  I'm  a  man  —  man's  desires  and  powers  and  sensi- 
bilities .  .  .  but,  by  God,  no  woman's  ever  looked  on 
me  except  with  horror !  Think  I  don't  know  it?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Mr.  Faidley,  they  don't  think  of  you 
that  way,  they  don't !  /  don't  —  I'm  sure !  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  was  repugnant  to  her  because  of  his 
deformity,  but  she  had  suffered  much,  and  her  soul 
knitted  swiftly  to  another  soul  that  had  suffered. 
"  They  admire  your  —  your  originality  —  just  as  I  do 

—  and  personality  —  and  everything  like  that !     They 
don't  think  about  you  —  the  way  you  say !     I  swear 
they  don't!" 

;' What  a  damned  little  liar  you  are!"  he  replied 
hoarsely,  raising  her  slim  fingers,  sparkling  with  jewels, 
to  his  lips.  "  Your  pity's  sweet,  little  one,  but  —  bit- 
ter-sweet —  bitter-sweet !  " 

He  slowly  lifted  his  head,  his  tears  dropping  upon 


286  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

her  hands.     "  You're  a  good  little  girl,"  he  said,  "  a 
good  little  girl." 

A  bewildered,  slightly  troubled  look  invested  his 
features,  and  now  that  the  twinkle  was  absent  from  his 
eyes,  Lydia  noticed  how  lined  with  suffering  his  jester's 
face  was. 

"  I'd  be  content  to  sit  on  your  doorstep  all  the  days 
of  my  life,  little  queen,  if  you'd  let  me  —  just  to  let 
your  dress  brush  me  —  as  you  passed  in  and  out." 

He  began  genuinely  weeping,  and  presently  grew 
utterly  incoherent  again,  his  head  and  shoulders  wag- 
ging with  limp  uncertainty  from  side  to  side.  His  in- 
termittent talk  became  more  and  more  indistinct,  and 
he  settled  heavily  against  the  table,  dead,  apparently, 
to  everything  about  him.  But  when  Lydia  rose, 
"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked  crossly. 

"  I'll  be  right  back."  She  tapped  him  reassuringly 
on  the  head,  and  left  the  room. 

The  floor  rose  in  billows  to  meet  her  feet.  She 
passed  closed  doors,  from  whence  came  boisterous 
sounds,  and  descended  a  short  flight  of  stairs  at  the 
rear  of  the  hall,  to  a  small  dressing  room,  entered  it, 
and  bolted  the  door.  The  room  was  dimly  lighted 
with  one  small  gas-flame,  and  was  pervaded  with  the 
scent  of  sachet-powder,  Jickey,  and  other  stale,  name- 
less odours.  There  was  a  small  looking-glass  hanging 
above  a  stationary  wash-stand.  She  looked  into  the 
glass  but  could  not  get  a  distinct  image  of  herself.  She 
felt  a  little  sick,  and  everything  was  hazy  and  more  or 
less  unreal  to  her.  On  the  edge  of  the  dirty  marble 
basin  was  an  open  powder-box  half  filled  with  pink 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  287 

face-powder,  and  several  discarded  scraps  of  soiled 
chamois-skin  were  scattered  about.  She  opened  the 
gold-mesh  purse  that  hung  from  her  wrist,  drew  out 
of  it  a  minute  powder-box  and  tiny  puff  and  dusted 
powder  over  her  face.  She  did  it  mechanically.  It 
was  not  precisely  what  she  had  come  for  —  here  —  to 
this  room.  .  .  .  An  idea  had  struck  her  a  few  moments 
before,  at  first  dimly,  then  more  vividly,  and  she  was 
more  or  less  resolutely  in  pursuit  of  it  now.  .  .  .  She 
was  not  sure  she  had  the  strength  —  the  "  nerve  " — 
to  carry  it  out!  She  was  dizzy  .  .  .  her  heart  was 
beating  too  fast  .  .  .  she  had  an  unpleasant,  actually 
painful,  sensation  of  suffocation.  She  reached  down 
inside  her  bodice  and,  drawing  out  the  hunchback's  big 
roll  of  bills,  counted  them  hurriedly,  with  shaking,  icy 
fingers.  Bills  of  small  denomination  were  on  the  out- 
side of  the  roll,  inside  —  fifties  and  hundreds  —  as 
nearly  as  she  could  tell  in  her  agitated  state  —  eleven 
hundred  or  twelve  hundred  dollars  in  all.  .  .  .  She 
needed  money  —  at  once. 

She  counted  out  about  six  hundred  dollars  from  the 
inside  bills,  rolled  them  in  a  separate  roll,  and,  wrap- 
ping her  little  lace  handkerchief  about  them,  thrust 
them  far  down  inside  her  bodice,  placing  the  remaining 
bills  just  inside  her  bosom  and  easily  accessible. 

She  had  never  before  in  her  life  appropriated  even 
the  most  minute  object  that  belonged  to  another.  .  .  . 
She  reasoned  with  herself  now  that  if  she  did  not  take 
this  money,  it  would  be  all  thrown  away  on  waiters  and 
servants  and  profligate  women  in  the  next  few  hours, 
or  some  one  else  would  filch  it,  the  whole  roll,  perhaps. 


288  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  reasoned  that  Faidley  had  plenty  of  money,  cared 
little  how  it  went  .  .  .  would  give  her  as  much  as  this 
if  she  asked  him  for  it. 

Yet  she  was  at  pains  to  reassure  herself  that  Faidley 
would  never  know  she  had  taken  this  six  hundred  dol- 
lars 1  He  would  think,  when  he  was  sober  enough  to 
think  anything  about  it  at  all,  that  he  had  squandered 
it  in  some  crazy  way  himself  .  .  .  she  was  at  pains  so 
to  reassure  herself,  but  her  heart  continued  to  beat 
with  strange,  almost  frightening  rapidity,  her  breast 
fluttered  with  strange,  novel  trepidations  as  she  made 
her  way  back  to  the  room  where  she  had  left  him, 
opened  the  door,  and  saw  him  sunk  in  helpless  drunk- 
enness, his  curly  head  dropped  on  the  table,  his  hide- 
ous, pitiable  back  toward  her  as  she  entered. 

ill 

He  raised  his  head.  "  Come  here  .  .  .  sit 
down.  .  .  ."  He  spoke  with  the  maximum  of  effort, 
rolling  his  head  around  in  the  most  unseemly  fashion, 
and  his  clouded  eyes  were  dreadful  to  look  upon. 
"  Sit  down  ...  I  want  to  give  you  a  little  advice  .  .  . 
want  to  give  you  a  little  advice.  .  .  ." 

Lydia  dropped  into  a  chair,  leaning  toward  him. 

"  You  see  .  .  .  you  see  what  a  beast  I  am,  confound 
it  ...  you  see  what  drink  makes  of  me,  little  one ! 
You  leave  it  alone  .  .  .  take  my  advice.  You're 
drinking  too  much  yourself  .  .  .  you've  got  to  quit 
.  .  .  it'll  ruin  you.  .  .  .  You  think  you've  got  to  drink 
—  eh,  don't  you  ?  But  you  don't !  You  cut  it  out, 
you  pretty  little !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  289 

He  had  called  her  by  the  unspeakable  name,  the 
name  loaded  with  the  infamy  and  iniquitous  associa- 
tions of  ages.  A  terrible  shudder  ran  through  Lydia's 
whole  body.  A  dazzling,  hellish  light  flooded  her. 
She  saw  herself  the  most  unholy  of  living  creatures. 
Within  her  a  voice  cried  brokenly — "Why  was  I 
born?  Why  was  I  ever  born?  " 

IV 

WThat  happened  next  she  could  not  afterwards  re- 
call with  much  clearness.  She  had  only  a  clouded 
remembrance  of  bursting  into  violent  sobs,  of  the 
hunchback's  trying  to  console  her,  wiping  her  eyes  and 
face  with  his  handkerchief,  clumsily  but  tenderly  .  .  . 
a  dim  remembrance  of  Faidley  and  herself  in  some  way 
getting  away  from  the  place  ...  of  her  paying  the 
bill  out  of  his  money  ...  of  the  waiter  and  the  man- 
ager helping  him  between  them  to  a  taxi-cab  ...  a 
dim,  disgusting,  unforgettable  memory  of  the  hunch- 
back inside  the  taxi-cab  with  her,  crazed  and  whimper- 
ing, as  they  sped  through  the  dark,  deserted  streets 
.  .  .  and  then  a  memory  of  leaving  him  at  his  hotel 
.  .  .  handing  to  the  night-clerk  Faidley's  money  — 
that  part  of  it  she  had  left  him. 

She  could  recall,  misty  as  a  dream,  the  taxi-cab  leav- 
ing her  at  the  apartment  house  where  she  lived,  and 
how  she  had  made  her  way  through  the  familiar  en- 
trance hall,  past  its  walls  with  the  bright  green  panels 
of  brocaded  satin,  past  its  white  marbles  and  big  mir- 
rors .  .  .  she  could  recall  tripping,  some  one  picking 
her  up  ...  a  bell-boy  bringing  her  up  in  the  elevator, 


290  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

unlocking  her  door  for  her  and  leading  her  into  the 
hall,  turning  on  lights.  Oh,  depths  to  which  she  had 
fallen! 


CHAPTER  IX 


IT  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  just  tossing  in  a  sort 
of  burning  half-sleep  the  night  through,  but  when, 
at  length,  she  became  conscious  that  the  faint  morning 
light  was  coming  in  through  the  window,  she  knew  she 
had  been  asleep,  for  she  had  dreamed  —  a  dream  still 
unfaded,  tangible. 

She  saw  she  had  only  half  undressed  herself;  she 
had  not  taken  her  hair  down,  and  the  hairpins  were 
hurting  her  head;  her  throat  was  parched,  and  an  evil 
taste  was  in  her  mouth,  but  she  was  too  inert  even  to 
ring  for  a  glass  of  water.  .  .  .  And  she  was  miserable 
...  in  her  dream,  her  father  had  appeared  to 
her.  .  .  . 

She  could  hear  the  maid  moving  around  softly  in  the 
apartment,  though  the  door  that  led  from  her  bedroom 
into  the  hall  had  been  closed. 

Her  eyes  roamed  over  the  room.  It  was  a  white 
room,  almost  as  white  as  a  hospital  room.  It  had 
been  her  fancy  to  have  it  so  —  no  roses,  no  pink  trap- 
pings —  trappings  of  Aphrodite.  There  were  no  pic- 
tures in  the  room,  no  mere  ornaments,  no  frippery. 
The  bed-draperies  were  entirely  white  and  simple,  as 
were  the  fine,  transparent  draperies  at  the  window. 
But  it  was  an  expensive  whiteness,  an  expensive  sim- 

391 


292  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

plicity.  The  multitude  of  toilet  accessories  on  the 
dressing-table  were  of  ivory  embellished  with  gold. 
Through  an  open  door  gleamed  a  white  bathroom  — 
tile,  enamel,  glass  —  the  acme  of  luxury. 

Over  this  elegant  whiteness  of  chamber  and  bath 
were  scattered  in  dissolute  confusion  feminine  gar- 
ments, outer  garments  and  intimate  inner  garments. 
A  sense  of  utter  degradation  assailed  Lydia.  ...  In 
that  dream,  still  so  vivid  in  her  mind,  she  and  the 
hunchback  were  issuing  together  into  the  dark  street 
from  the  door  of  the  resort  where  they  had  been  to- 
gether; they  were  both  staggering,  when  suddenly  her 
father  stood  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  them,  looking 
only  at  her  —  at  her  long  velvet  cloak,  her  beautiful, 
costly  furs,  the  sweeping  plume  of  her  hat,  her  jewels, 
the  rouged  spots  on  her  cheeks.  A  light  from  some- 
where illumined  his  face,  that  kind,  homely  face  —  so 
infinitely  sad,  so  troubled,  amazed  — "  Why,  Lydia, 

are  you  a ?  "  calling  her  by  the  name  Faidley  had 

called  her  by,  the  name  that  had  branded  her  in  her 
own  thoughts  forever ! 

II 

Her  thoughts  went  back  to  her  father's  death-bed. 
She  saw  again  that  wondrous  and  beautiful  transfigur- 
ing of  his  plain,  spent  face  .  .  .  the  unearthly  sound 
of  cocks  crowing  was  breaking  across  the  dreadful  hush 
of  the  room,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poole  and  other  neighbours 
were  standing  about.  .  .  .  She  heard  again  those 
words  wrung  from  her  father's  heart,  the  last  words 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  293 

his  lips  had  uttered  — "  Lydia,  don't  get  anything  fine 
for  me.  Just  a  plain  coffin.  .  .  ." 

How  she  had  loved  him,  how  she  had  respected  and 
admired  him !  .  .  . 

There  was  a  step  in  the  hall.  The  maid  tapped  at 
the  door.  She  feigned  sleep.  Sick  and  wretched  as 
she  was,  she  wanted  to  be  alone.  For  a  long  time  she 
had  directed  passionate  efforts  towards  escaping  her 
thoughts.  Now  she  was  facing  them  with  desperate 
courage,  no  longer  hiding  from  herself  how  debased 
she  had  become. 

Her  dream  —  was  it  a  dream?  She  had  little  faith 
in  so-called  psychic  experiences,  but  she  had  not  thought 
of  her  father  as  alive,  close  to  her,  for  a  long,  long 
time,  and  now  —  this  dream ! 

The  old  craving  for  his  sane,  strong,  dear  presence 
stirred  in  her !  How  vivid  he  was  to  her  all  at  once ! 
What  happy  hours  they  had  known.  But  how  long 
ago  it  seemed  —  that  life  they  had  led  together.  How 
far  in  the  past,  how  dim,  shrouded,  seemed  Kingsville. 
So  much  'had  happened  since  —  in  her  outward  life, 
and  even  more  truly  in  her  inner  life.  It  was  but  a 
child  she  had  read  about  in  a  book,  a  girl  in  a  dream, 
that  Lydia  of  fast-blurring  outlines,  the  Lydia  who  had 
lived  in  Kingsville. 

And  yet  at  the  thought  of  Kingsville,  she  was  all 
faintly  a-thrill.  It  was  always  so;  her  memory  of 
Kingsville  had  the  troubling  fragrance  of  a  May  night. 
Always,  always,  she  would  pine  for  the  old,  proud,  self- 
satisfied,  picturesque  Southern  town  throned  on  its 


294  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

seven  hills.  No  other  spot  on  earth  could  ever  be  so 
sweet  to  her,  so  glorified  by  her  imagination.  She 
would  yearn  always,  till  the  hour  her  eyes  gathered 
over  them  the  film  of  death,  for  the  sight,  the  smell, 
the  feel,  of  Kingsville.  But  it  could  never  be  for  her 
again.  Not  even  her  dust,  the  dust  of  her  flesh  she 
had  so  polluted,  could  lie  there  and  mingle  with  the 
dear  red  dust  of  the  hills  of  Kingsville. 

HI 

But  Saturday  would  bring  Peter !  This  was  Thurs- 
day. How  could  she  wait  the  dragging  moments  till 
that  blessed  medicine  —  Peter  —  arrived!  Peter's 
coming  made  it  possible  for  her  to  live,  to  face  the 
truth,  to  plan. 

She  tried  to  formulate  definite  plans  for  getting 
away  from  her  present  life.  It  took  possession  of  her, 
as  her  supreme  longing,  to  have  Peter  with  her  again. 

How  should  she  proceed?  .  .  .  how  start  again? 

Of  course  she  could  go  back  to  the  sort  of  work  she 
had  supported  herself  and  Peter  with  before.  She 
could  go  back  to  a  little  mean  hall  bedroom,  in  a  cheap 
lodging-house,  up  flights  and  flights  of  stairs,  have 
washer-women  and  drivers  of  delivery  wagons  for  her 
neighbours  ...  all  that  old  nightmare  once  more, 
Peter  in  the  streets  again,  with  gutter  chums  —  oh,  no ! 

When  she  came  to  consider,  it  was  the  same  diffi- 
culty facing  her  that  had  faced  her  ever  since  the  day 
her  father's  death  left  her  a  young  girl,  alone,  in 
Kingsville,  without  resources.  She  was  not  trained  to 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  295 

earn  a  living  in  any  way  compatible  with  her  tastes  and 
temperament,  and  in  the  days  since  she  had  begun  her 
own  struggle,  all  lines  of  endeavour  had  become  highly 
specialised,  were  becoming  more  and  more  specialised 
all  the  time,  so  that  the  problem  was  far  more  difficult 
now  than  in  those  days  when  she  had  started  out  as 
general  agent. 

The  more  she  thought  about  things,  the  more  im- 
potent she  felt.  Everything  seemed  impossible  to  her 
except  to  drift  along,  sometimes  in  the  depths  of  mis- 
ery, as  at  present,  again,  reasonably  satisfied  with  her 
existence,  and  its  rewards,  such  as  they  were. 

But  then,  the  dream,  her  father's  face,  Peter!  No, 
no,  she  could  not  remain  in  this  life !  She  must  stiffen 
herself,  make  a  supreme  effort,  break  from  it,  and 
establish  herself  decently  again. 

Whom  could  she  consult?  Which  of  the  men  she 
knew  could  she  go  to  with  such  a  problem?  They 
would  laugh  at  her.  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  certainly 
would.  They  would  think  she  was  not  in  earnest,  or 
betray  a  lack  of  interest  —  boredom,  possibly.  They 
would  think  her  silly,  to  consult  them  on  such  a  bit  of 
business,  and  she  would  feel  silly  herself. 

Of  all  the  men  she  knew,  Faidley,  alone,  occurred  to 
her  as  a  man  whom  she  might  consult  without  fear  of 
misunderstanding.  Drunk  or  sober,  and  for  all  his 
foul,  bitter  tongue,  he  was  a  big-hearted  man.  Yet 
at  the  thought  of  him  —  she  quailed.  The  money ! 
Suppose  he  should  accuse  her  I  .  .  .  With  a  tremen- 
dous effort,  she  dismissed  the  thought  of  him. 


296  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Perhaps  she  might  consult  some  minister  of  the 
Church,  some  pure,  broad-spirited  clergyman  like  old 
Dr.  Dunbar  in  Kingsville. 

But  almost  immediately  she  wondered  at  herself 
that  she  could  have  entertained  the  notion  for  even  an 
instant.  Clergymen  were  far  from  sacrosanct  to  her, 
as  a  class,  and  how  would  she  know  where  among  them 
to  seek  a  Dr.  Dunbar? 

Another  idea  came  to  her.  Why  not  go  down  to 
old  Trinity  Church,  and  there,  removed  from  all  the 
suggestions  and  pressures  of  life  in  her  apartment, 
think  things  over.  Perhaps  in  that  dim,  silent  interior 
some  plan  would  suggest  itself  to  her. 

But  scarcely  had  she  formed  this  intention,  than  the 
established  habits  of  her  life  asserted  their  familiar, 
insistent  sway  over  her.  The  masseuse  arrived.  Un- 
der her  skilful  fingers,  Lydia  fell  into  a  light  sleep  and 
woke  from  it  a  few  moments  later  with  a  vague,  com- 
forting sense  of  recovered  well-being.  .  .  .  Those 
perplexing,  insistent  problems  that  had  harassed  her 
appeared  now  less  perplexing,  less  insistent. 

While  her  nails  were  manicured  and  her  hair  sham- 
pooed, she  gave  the  maid  directions,  paid  bills,  looked 
over  newly-purchased  lingerie,  answered  calls  at  the 
telephone,  in  a  word,  transacted  innumerable  small 
businesses  of  the  kind  with  which  the  hours  of  every 
(morning  were  filled. 

The  full  tide  of  her  day  had  caught  her,  and  the 
only  things  that  seemed  very  real  to  her  and  not  to  be 
put  aside  were  these  small,  importunate  matters  of 
every  day.  The  ideas  she  had  entertained  a  short 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  297 

while  before  of  going  to  a  minister,  of  going  down  to 
Trinity  Church  to  meditate,  now  seemed  rather  theat- 
rical, a  little  absurd,  and  altogether  impossible. 

Her  maid  brought  in  a  florist's  box,  opened  it,  and 
handed  her  Louis  Beauvais'  card. 

"Paper  flowers  1"  she  exclaimed  disdainfully, 
merely  glancing  at  the  showy,  long-stemmed  chrysan- 
themums. "  I  detest  them!  " 

The  little  manicurist  looked  up  with  shy  wonder 
from  Lydia's  finger-nail  she  was  filing.  "  Oh,  I  think 
they're  swell!  "  she  said,  her  eyes  following  covetously 
the  expensive  flowers  the  maid  was  carrying  from  the 
room. 

"  Why,  you  can  have  them !  "  Lydia  exclaimed  im- 
pulsively. "  Leave  them  in  the  box,  I'll  give  them  to 
Theresa  !  "  she  called  after  her  maid. 

Bonnie  wheeled  resentfully  in  the  doorway.  Her 
rights  to  participation  in  all  the  fat  spoils  of  an  irregu- 
lar household  were  threatened. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Lydia,  good-naturedly,  "  so  you're  not 
going  to  let  Theresa  have  all  of  them!  Well,  leave 
half  in  the  box  for  her,  the  other  half  you  can  have." 

The  little  manicurist  beamed  adoring  gratitude. 
Lydia  loved  to  make  such  girls  happy.  A  great  lack 
in  her  life  was  the  companionship  of  women,  and  in  a 
small  degree  she  supplied  it  by  friendliness  and  gen- 
erosity to  the  working  women  she  came  in  contact  with, 
by  winning  regard  and  admiration  from  saleswomen 
in  shops,  from  her  corsetiere,  her  dressmaker,  the  mil- 
liners who  caressingly  tried  their  creations  on  her  chic, 
satisfactory  head. 


298  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  chatted  gaily  with  Theresa.  Every  moment  as 
the  morning  advanced  she  felt  a  little  better,  a  little 
more  sure  of  herself,  of  her  powers,  of  the  attractions 
of  mere  living. 

And  Theresa  flattered  her.  Her  nails  were  "  per- 
fect," her  hair  was  the  "  loveliest "  Theresa  had  ever 
"  worked  with." 

So  the  glib  masseuse  had  fed  her  with  compliments 
earlier  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  X 


SHE  had  bought  a  ticket  earlier  in  the  week  for 
Ellen  Terry's  lecture  on  "  The  Children  in  Shake- 
speare's Plays."  She  could  not  imagine  a  very  engag- 
ing discourse  on  the  children  in  Shakespeare;  she  could 
barely  recall  that  there  were  children  in  Shakespeare's 
plays.  Moreover,  a  man  who  often  discoursed  inter- 
estingly to  her  on  bygone  as  well  as  present-day  ac- 
tresses, had  warned  her.  "  Don't,  don't  see  her  now ! 
Ah,  you  should  have  seen  her  years  ago  —  what  a 
delight  she  was  then !  " 

But  she  must  have  entertainment  of  some  sort  this 
Thursday  afternoon;  and  she  confessed  to  curiosity 
about  an  actress  whose  name  had  been  one  to  conjure 
with  for  generations.  She  confessed  to  more  than  a 
little  curiosity  about  a  woman,  the  passing  of  whose 
youth  old  men  could  speak  of  now  in  tones  of  sad,  al- 
most resentful  regret,  as  if,  with  the  passing  of  Ellen 
Terry's  youth,  had  "  passed  a  glory  from  the  earth." 

The  stage  of  the  Broadway  Theatre  was  arranged 
with  a  simple  reading-desk  against  a  dark  velvet  cur- 
tain. Ellen  Terry  came  out,  paused  in  front  of  the 
velvet  curtain  —  a  tall,  fair-haired,  big  woman  in  grey- 
green  satin,  a  rather  singular,  floating  garment.  She 
wore  one  ring,  the  Henry  Irving  ring.  Her  eyes  held 

299 


300  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Lydia's  chief  attention.  They  were  not  large  or  dark 
or  especially  clear  or  luminous,  they  were  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  eyes  to  which  power  is  commonly  attributed, 
yet  Lydia  quickly  perceived  that  it  was  in  her  eyes  had 
lain,  lay  still,  part  of  the  spell  Ellen  Terry  exer- 
cised over  countless  men  and  women.  Oddly  enough, 
the  character  of  these  eyes  seemed  to  lie  in  some  inex- 
plicable way  in  their  very  characterlessness.  Lydia 
could  not  define  the  impression  they  made  on  her,  but 
it  was  an  extraordinarily  strong,  extraordinarily  pleas- 
ant impression. 

After  the  lecture  was  over,  she  could  not  repeat  a 
single  thing  Ellen  Terry  had  said  about  the  children 
of  Shakespeare's  plays. 

But  she  had  speedily  discovered  that  the  matter  of 
Ellen  Terry's  discourse  was  of  no  importance  what- 
ever. The  importance  was  in  Ellen  Terry. 

She  found  herself  drawing  her  handkerchief  from 
her  muff,  and  at  first  furtively,  and  then  more  openly, 
mopping  her  eyes.  She  found  her  breath  catching 
in  little  sobs.  What  was  she  crying  about?  Ellen 
Terry  was  reading,  or  talking,  in  those  friendly  little 
interspersions  she  made  in  her  reading,  of  nothing  par- 
ticularly sad,  of  nothing  particularly  intended  to  be 
touching. 

"  Why  is  my  face  wet  with  tears?  "  Lydia  asked  her- 
self. 

She  could  not  tell  exactly  why,  not  for  a  moment  or 
two,  but  then  she  knew  that  they  were  tears  of  sheer 
gladness.  It  was  so  good  that  the  world  had  in  it 
Ellen  Terry !  That  great  lady  would  never  know  her. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  301 

But  the  desolating  loneliness  from  which  she  had  suf- 
fered so  long  —  even  from  her  solitary  childhood  in 
Kingsville  —  seemed  suddenly  dispelled.  Ellen  Terry 
was  in  the  world!  In  the  same  world  with  her!  She 
could  never  be  so  lonely  again. 

And  they  called  her  old!  —  this  big,  roguish  woman 
moving  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  velvety  curtain 
in  her  big,  free,  impulsive  way.  Why,  how  could  they 
call  her  old?  Could  you  call  sunshine  old?  Could 
you  call  the  tumbling  music  of  a  little  fall  of  water  you 
came  upon  in  the  woods  old?  Could  you  call  that 
fresh,  liquid,  jubilant  note  of  the  wood-thrush  in  spring 
—  could  you  call  it  old?  No  more  could  you  call 
Ellen  Terry  old!  She  was  the  morning  sunshine  that 
glinted  through  a  chink  in  your  blinds  and  played  in 
those  dazzling  globules  of  delight  on  your  chamber 
wall !  She  was  the  mysterious,  delicious  rustling  of 
tree-tops !  She  was  like  a  force  of  nature,  she  was  a 
force  of  nature  —  eternally  fresh,  beautiful,  spontane- 
ous, regenerative !  Given  to  the  borne-down  hearts  of 
men  to  gladden  them,  uplift  them,  revivify  them ! 

II 

It  was  over.  Ellen  Terry  had  finished  the  last  page 
of  her  discourse,  she  had  smiled  her  final  frank,  boyish 
smile  at  her  smiling  but  tear-misted  audience.  Because 
some  nice  little  boy  in  the  audience  had  asked  her  to  — 
she  had  recited  "  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained," 
and  so  forth,  as  only  Ellen  Terry  could,  and  only  Ellen 
Terry  ever  would  be  able  to  recite  it. 

Lydia  was  out  in  the  street  again,  walking  rapidly 


302  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

and  lightly  along  Broadway,  with  a  great  throng  of 
other  people  who  had  come  pouring  out  of  the  theatres. 
The  air  was  crisp  and  exhilarating.  The  street  lights 
and  the  lights  in  the  shops  glittered  through  the  waning 
daylight. 

More  than  the  invigorating  November  air  exhila- 
rated her.  She  had  never  before  respected  herself 
merely  for  being  a  human  creature,  for  she  had  never 
fully  understood  what  a  human  creature  might  be  of 
joy  and  light  to  others,  until  this  bright  radiance  of 
Ellen  Terry  had  fallen  on  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 


AS  she  walked  over  to  Fifth  Avenue  and  entering 
a  fashionable  hotel  made  her  way  to  its  brilliant 
tearoom,  the  brave  radiance  of  that  other  human  crea- 
ture was  still  upon  her.  Alone  at  her  table,  and  silent, 
except  for  a  few  words  interchanged  with  the  waiter, 
she  had  a  sense  nevertheless  of  participation  in  the  vi- 
vacious scene  around  her.  She  had  been  in  this  tea- 
room on  certain  afternoons  before  when  her  own 
separation,  her  isolation,  from  her  kind,  from  the  kind 
certainly  that  attracted  her,  womenkind  particularly, 
had  borne  down  heavily  upon  her.  But,  this  after- 
noon she  was  neither  depressed  nor  lonely.  As  she 
sipped  her  tea  and  leisurely  ate  the  cakes  she  had  se- 
lected from  a  tray  of  pretty  cakes  offered  for  her 
choice,  and  as  she  met  glances  from  neighbouring  ta- 
bles, it  was  almost  impossible  for  her  not  to  nod  and 
smile  at  these  fellow  mortals.  She  felt  a  strange  new 
sense,  very  delightful,  of  human  fellowship.  After  all, 
we  mortals,  all  so  weak,  and  all  so  strong,  too,  were 
not  so  far  separated  from  one  another.  .  .  .  The  room 
seemed  full  of  friends  to  her  —  such  a  nice,  new,  rather 
funny  sensation  it  was !  Her  mind  was  teeming  with 
fresh  perceptions.  There  were  all  sorts  of  noble, 
sunny  possibilities,  vague,  to  be  sure,  to  which  she  as  3 
human  creature  might  still  attain. 

303 


304  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  finished  her  tea,  paid  the  waiter,  tipped  him  lib- 
erally, and  walked  through  the  crowded  rotunda  to  the 
main  entrance  of  the  hotel,  where  she  lingered  a  mo- 
ment, buttoning  the  last  button  of  her  gloves,  adjusting 
her  long  stole  of  fur  a  little  closer  before  she  emerged 
into  the  nippy  air.  A  swift  procession  of  people 
brushed  by  her  in  and  out  of  the  hotel.  The  eyes  of 
men  met  hers  with  frank  admiration  and  with  lingering 
inquiry.  But  the  furtive  seeking  of  her  own  eyes  was 
more  a  matter  of  habit  than  of  actual  intent.  She  was 
not  bent  at  the  moment  on  adventure.  She  was  merely 
relishing,  half-unconsciously,  the  admiration  she  ex- 
cited, as,  in  the  absence  of  wholesome  food  in  her  life, 
she  fed  on  the  fulsome  flattery  of  the  masseuse  and  of 
the  little  manicurist.  With  a  slight  return  of  bitter- 
ness to  her  ever-fluctuating  heart,  she  wondered 
whether  all  these  people  who  stared  at  her  knew  what 
she  was  .  .  .  and,  in  a  more  practical  vein,  she  was 
debating  with  herself  whether  she  had  better  take  the 
Fifth  Avenue  'bus,  or  walk.  She  wanted  the  nearness 
of  the  great  human  stream  in  the  street,  and  in  the  'bus, 
of  all  places  she  knew,  she  felt  least  sense  of  human 
kinship.  She  was  still  wavering,  when  she  became  con- 
scious that  a  couple  approaching  the  hotel  from  the 
street  were  staring  at  her.  The  woman's  big,  black 
eyes,  bold  but  effulgent,  had  fixed  on  her  a  look  of  half- 
recognition,  and  her  companion,  who  seemed  hardly 
more  than  an  appendage  to  her  own  stylish  toilette  — 
a  small,  prosperous,  though  insignificant-looking  man 
—  was  peering  at  Lydia  through  the  thick  lenses  of  his 
spectacles  in  an  apparently  puzzled  effort  to  place  her. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  305 

She  was  aware  that  the  big,  bold-looking  woman  had 
called  the  little  man's  attention  to  her. 

In  a  flash,  she  realised  that  it  was  Mrs.  Joy  —  the 
Mrs.  Joy  who  controlled  and  pervaded  Maxfield's  in 
Kingsville  —  the  invincible  Mrs.  Joy,  who  would  have 
patronised  royalty.  She  recognised  the  little  man  with 
her  as  Maxfield  himself. 

Mrs.  Joy  pushed  through  the  heavy  revolving  doors, 
and  seized  her  hand.  "  My  dear,  I  know  you  per- 
fectly—  perfectly!  Yet  I  can't  call  your  name!  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  remember  me,  Mrs.  Joy  — 
I  lived  in  Kingsville  years  ago,"  replied  Lydia,  out- 
wardly composed,  smiling  a  little. 

"  So  stupid  of  me  not  to  recall  your  name  —  but  no 
one  would  ever  forget  your  face,  my  dear !  I  said  to 
Mr.  Maxfield  — '  There's  some  one  I  know,  that  beau- 
tiful woman  there  in  the  door! ' 

"  My  name  was  Lambright." 

Mrs.  Joy  seemed  at  a  loss.  "Lambright?  Lam- 
bright?"  She  turned  to  Maxfield,  who  with  smiling 
patience  was  awaiting  the  disclosure  of  Lydia's  iden- 
tity. "  You  remember  that  name?  " 

He  looked  questioningly  first  at  Mrs.  Joy  then  at 
Lydia.  "Lambright?  —  I  think  I  recall  the  name." 
But  he  offered  no  further  elucidation. 

"  Lambright !  "  Mrs.  Joy  exclaimed  triumphantly, 
seizing  Lydia's  hand  afresh.  "  Of  course,  of  course! 
—  Professor  Lambright  who  was  at  the  College, 
who — "  She  checked  herself,  but  with  the  next 
breath,  "  You  were  the  little  Lambright  girl,  of  course! 
Didn't  I  sell  you  a  pretty  little  suit,  my  dear  "— -  her 


306  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

voice  dropped  sympathetically  — "  just  a  day  or  so  be- 
fore your  father  died?  " 

Lydia  admitted  that  she  had. 

"  You've  married,  of  course !  "  Mrs.  Joy  envel- 
oped her  in  her  luxuriant,  plausible  smile. 

"  Yes." 

"Your  name  now,  dear?"  with  a  lift  of  her  black 
eyebrows. 

"Still  Lambright!  "  laughed  Lydia,  entirely  self- 
possessed.  She  understood  nowadays  how  to  meet 
these  moments.  "  I  took  my  own  name  back." 

"  So  sensible,  too,  my  dear!  Of  course  you  had  no 
attachment  to  the  other  name !  "  Mrs.  Joy's  voice 
had  all  the  rich  cadences  Lydia  remembered  in  it  of 
yore.  "  You're  living  here  —  in  New  York?  " 

"  Yes.  Won't  you  come  with  me,  both  of  you,  to 
my  apartment,  and  have  dinner  with  me  ?  "  Her  heart 
beat  tempestuously.  "  I  want  to  hear  about  Kings- 
ville." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  how  we  would  love  to  do  that! 
How  sweet  of  you  to  ask  us  I  How  perfectly  sweet  of 
you !  But  you  see  we  only  came  up  on  business,  a  fly- 
ing trip,  to  look  at  a  bankrupt  stock,  and  we're  going 
back  this  evening  —  the  nine  o'clock  train,  and  we  have 
an  appointment,  a  business  appointment,  for  six-thirty 
sharp !  But  my  dear,  why  can't  you  go  right  up  now 
with  us,  to  my  sitting  room,  and  have  a  little  visit  there. 
Oh,  yes,  yes,  there's  quite  time  enough." 

The  sitting  room  proved  a  spacious,  gorgeously  fur- 
nished apartment.  On  the  mahogany  table  was  an 
enormous  cluster  of  American  Beauty  roses  in  an  o§- 


THE  SEAS  Of  GOD  307 

tentatious  cut-glass  vase.  The  merchant  —  an  elderly 
man  with  rodent  features  and  a  small  self-depreciatory 
moustache  —  seated  himself  beside  Mrs.  Joy  on  the 
couch.  Lydia  said  to  herself  with  some  amusement 
that  Mrs.  Joy  had  lasted  rather  well !  She  looked 
hardly  a  day  older  than  when  she  last  saw  her. 

At  first  Lydia's  inquiries  were  of  a  cautious  and  gen- 
eral character  —  Had  Kingsville  grown?  Had  it 
changed  much?  But  finally  she  asked  of  the  Pooles 
—  Did  Mrs.  Joy  know  anything  about  them?  —  How 
they  were? —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poole  who  lived  on  Hill 
Avenue. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  they've  been  dead  years, 
years! " 

"  Not  —  not  both  of  them?  "  Lydia  asked,  shocked, 
incredulous. 

'  Yes,  yes,  indeed !  Died  very  near  together.  I 
remember  so  well  because  I  attended  to  her  widow's 
mourning  for  her  —  such  a  pretty  old  dear,  wasn't 
she  ?  —  and  he  hardly  cold  in  his  grave,  yes,  actually, 
hardly  cold  in  his  grave,  before  the  old  lady  followed 
him  —  heart,  or  something  of  the  kind,  I  think  they 
said.  You  knew  them,  did  you?  " 

Lydia  smiled  pluckily,  but  there  was  an  ache  in  her 
heart.  Why  had  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  the 
Pooles  might  be  dead?  She  was  wrung  with  remorse. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  nothing  else  in  her  life  was  so 
unforgivable  as  her  ingratitude  to  the  Pooles.  She 
was  afraid,  now,  to  ask  of  old  Dr.  Dunbar.  He,  too, 
was  dead,  of  course. 


308  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ii 

But  there  was  one  curiosity  clamouring  for  satisfac- 
tion —  one  question  she  wished  to  ask  above  every 
other.  "  Mr.  Ransom  Churchwell,"  her  pulses  were 
throbbing,  "  he  is  —  well?  And  handsome  as  ever?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  handsomer,  handsomer  than  ever ! 
His  hair  snow-white,  you  know!  By  the  way,  I  have 
two  gowns  and  an  evening  wrap  —  very  smart !  — 
right  there  in  my  trunk  now  that  I'm  taking  back  to 
Mrs.  Churchwell!  She  wanted  something  —  unusual, 
don't  you  know,  and  she  always  counts  on  me  for  that 
sort  of  thing!  She's  really  quite  the  smartest  dresser 
in  Kingsville  now!  " 

It  was  not  of  Ransom  Churchwell's  wife  that  Lydia 
wanted  to  hear.  "  The  Churchwells  are  happy,  I  sup- 
pose? "  she  ventured  to  throw  out,  at  last,  as  a  feeler. 

Mrs.  Joy's  lips  closed  over  her  glistening  teeth  in 
an  indulgent  grimace.  "  Oh,  well,  you  know  how 
those  things  are  in  this  day  and  time,  my  dear !  It's  a 
day  of  liberty,  don't  you  think  so  ?  I  don't  think  Mrs. 
Churchwell  bothers  herself  much  about  his  little  —  de- 
flections, so  to  speak!  The  Churchwell  blood,  you 
know!  She  had  to  expect  that  sort  of  thing."  She 
shook  her  big  head  mischievously.  "  Oh,  yes,  he's 
quite  a  ladies'  man  still." 

The  little  merchant  broke  in  with  a  loud  guffaw 
of  laughter.  "  Decidedly  yes !  "  he  agreed,  the  first 
words  he  had  offered.  "  I  should  say  so  —  a  ladies' 
man!" 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  309 

After  all  these  years,  resentment  .  .  .  jealousy,  a 
devouring  flame,  leaped  within  Lydia. 

Before  she  left  the  hotel  she  had  telegraphed  Ran- 
som Churchwell  — "  Can  you  come  to  me  at  once?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 


SWIFT  as  wires  could  bring  it,  she  had  had  his  an- 
swer; he  would  leave  Kingsville  on  the  first  train. 

In  the  hours  since,  the  hours  of  the  intervening  day 
and  of  the  two  intervening  nights  and  now  of  this  day 
—  Saturday  had  come  —  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
lived  through  every  emotion  of  which  the  heart  is 
capable. 

She  had  sent  a  long  telegram  to  the  head  brother  at 
Peter's  school;  Peter  was  not  to  come  to  her  on  Satur- 
day; she  would  wire  not  later  than  Sunday  morning 
when  he  might  come;  he  was  to  be  assured  it  would  be 
very  soon,  very  likely  she  would  come  out  to  the  school 
for  him  herself  Sunday  or  Monday.  She  did  not  dare 
dwell  on  Peter's  inconsolable  childish  grief  when  he 
knew  the  Saturday  visit  he  had  been  counting  on  was  to 
be  postponed. 

But  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  Peter  should  be 
present  during  the  first  moments  of  her  meeting  with 
his  father. 

Ransom  Churchwell,  Peter's  father!  With  every 
moment  that  brought  Churchwell  nearer,  it  was  harder 
to  believe. 

She  was  waiting  for  him  now  in  almost  delirious  ex- 
citement. She  saw  the  objects  about  her  through  a 

310 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  311 

haze  like  the  quivering  haze  of  intense  summer  heat. 
She  was  so  weak  she  could  scarcely  walk  across  the 
room,  and  water  stood  out  in  little  beads  on  her  hands 
and  forehead.  She  had  dressed  herself  with  great 
care;  she  was  afraid  that  she  might  look  old  to  him  — 
and  not  as  he  remembered  her. 

She  had  put  on  a  gown  of  some  crepy  white  fabric, 
girlishly  fashioned,  and  she  had  tried  to  do  without 
cosmetics,  but  without  them  her  face  looked  featureless 
and  unattractive  to  her  and  she  had  at  last  to  resort 
to  the  accustomed  aids. 

She  had  left  off  diamonds  and  her  more  glaringly 
expensive  ornaments,  but  she  had  not  denied  herself 
certain  effective  adjuncts  to  her  appearance  —  shoes  of 
emerald  green  leather;  an  antique  jewel  at  her  throat 
on  a  narrow  black  ribbon,  a  curious  jewel  of  green 
enamel  and  brilliants;  and  an  antique  ring,  companion 
to  the  jewel  at  her  throat. 

II 

It  was  four  o'clock.  She  had  counted  that  he  might 
possibly  arrive  at  four.  Perhaps  the  train  was  late  — 
in  that  blessed  way  she  remembered  Southern  things 
had  of  always  being  late  1  She  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
endure  the  suspense  much  longer.  Her  mind  flew  back 
to  the  brief  lines  of  his  telegram  — "  I  am  coming, 
Lydia,  first  train.  Arrive  New  York  Saturday  three- 
thirty.  Ransom." 

Ah,  he  was  the  same  Ransom  Churchwell  —  that 
warm,  spontaneous,  appealing-to-be-forgiven  touch  — 
"  I  am  coming,  Lydia !  "  Who  but  Ransom  Church- 


3i2  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

well  would  have  put  it  that  way  ?  Wild  longing  took 
possession  of  her;  followed  swiftly  by  dread,  gnawing 
fears. 

And  when  at  length  she  knew  that  it  was  he  whom 
she  heard  the  elevator  stopping  at  her  floor  to  let  off, 
he,  ringing  the  bell  of  her  apartment,  Ransom  Church- 
well,  the  god  of  her  childhood,  the  worshipped  love  of 
her  maidenhood  —  the  father  of  Peter,  her  poor  little 
beloved  Peter,  something  hard  and  icy  touched  her 
heart.  A  wave  more  of  hate  than  of  love  swept 
through  her  as  she  heard  him  ask  for  her  at  the  door 
in  his  deep,  unchanged  voice,  that  magic  voice  and  in- 
tonation of  the  South ! 

She  reached  for  a  cigarette,  lit  it  hurriedly,  and  blew 
a  thin  column  of  smoke  from  her  lips.  He  did  not 
jmove  from  the  door  where  the  maid  had  left  him,  he 
did  not  speak  her  name,  nor  she  his.  In  all  the  pas- 
sionately turbulent  years  of  her  life  nothing  had  been 
like  this  moment  —  this  interminable  moment.  He 
stood  looking  at  her,  and  she,  half-reclining  against  the 
cushions  of  the  divan,  at  him,  the  soft  light  of  late 
afternoon  shining  over  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the 
great  city  and  softly  through  the  windows  back  of  her. 

in 

"  He  does  not  look  as  I  thought  he  did !  .  .  .  He 
looks  old!"  A  slight  pang  of  pity  for  him  shot 
through  her  heart.  Yet  she  realised  and  with  another, 
very  different  pang,  that  he  looked  thoroughly  well- 
conditioned,  not  like  a  man  who  had  known  suffering 
or  deprivation  of  any  kind.  And  of  all  the  percep- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  313 

tions  and  emotions  crowding  on  her,  something  queerly 
like  pride  was  in  her  observation  that  in  his  clothes  and 
bearing  he  was  wholly  like  the  city  men  her  eyes  were 
accustomed  to  now. 

The  most  curious  thing  to  her  was,  that  it  did  not 
seem  to  her  that  this  was  really  Ransom  Churchwell  — 
this  tall,  graceful  man. 

And  she  was  vaguely  conscious  that  similar  unreal- 
ities were  oppressing  him  as  he  stood  silent,  his  head 
a  little  bowed. 

"  Lydia,  I  came  —  as  you  asked  me  to  —  didn't 
you?  "  he  said  finally,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice,  deep 
and  tender,  with  the  indefinable  charm  of  the  Southern 
cadence,  made  him  again  seem  real  to  her,  as  when  she 
had  caught  the  first  sound  of  his  voice  at  the  outer 
door. 

u  Won't  you  have  a  chair?  "  she  said,  smiling  coolly, 
and  with  the  hand  on  which  shone  the  antique  ring,  a 
big  ,blur  of  green  and  brilliants,  she  motioned  to  the 
chair  nearest  the  divan. 

He  took  the  chair  she  indicated,  answering  her  with 
a  smile  as  slight  and  casual  as  her  own.  Their  hands 
did  not  extend  to  one  another  in  greeting,  and  their 
eyes  met  with  something  akin  to  hostility.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her,  that  here,  where  she  had  but  to  put  out 
her  fingers  and  touch  him,  he  was  worlds  and  worlds 
separated  from  her,  farther  from  her  than  he  had  ever 
been  —  even  in  Kingsville  when  she  had  looked  off 
from  afar  at  him  across  the  impassable  gulf  which  had 
separated  them  then. 

This  unexpected  sense  of  his  distance  and  separation 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

from  her  was  agony.  The  old  savage  desire  for  ex- 
clusive possession  seized  her.  She  felt  she  would 
rather  die  than  have  to  continue  to  live  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  was  no  longer  hers! 

"Won't  you  smoke?"  She  held  out  to  him  her 
gold  cigarette  case. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  not  now,  thank  you," 
his  eyes  puzzled,  and  displeased  or  sad,  she  could  not 
tell  which. 

She  rose  quickly  from  the  divan,  forcing  a  little  laugh. 
"  Ah,  perhaps  you  don't  fancy  my  Russian  tobacco,  my 
cigarettes  are  too  mild  for  you !  "  She  offered  him  his 
choice  of  Egyptian  and  Turkish  cigarettes  and  of  sev- 
eral English  and  American  brands.  But  he  answered 
her  lightly  that  if  she  really  wished  him  to  smoke,  and 
would  pardon  his  incivility,  he  preferred  his  own  manu- 
facture to  any  other,  and  taking  a  pouch  of  tobacco  and 
a  book  of  papers  from  his  pocket,  he  filled  and  rolled 
a  cigarette  with  the  familiar  movements  she  recalled  as 
characteristic  of  him.  Curiously  enough,  with  this 
perfectly  trivial  performance,  he  became  all  at  once 
thoroughly  himself  to  her. 

But  before  she  bared  her  own  heart,  he  must  bare 
his.  "  Is  Kingsville  —  the  same  old  Kmgsville?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  laugh,  but  her  heart  beating  convul- 
sively. 

"It  hasn't  changed  —  beyond  recognition!"  His 
smile  was  a  trifle  ironic. 

"  I  always  think  of  it,"  she  said,  with  deliberate 
malice,  puffing  slowly  at  her  cigarette,  "  I  always  think 
of  it  as  the  quintessence  of  the  provincial  —  as  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  315 

most  deliciously  narrow-minded,  self-satisfied  town  the 
sun  ever  shone  on !  " 

A  gleam  of  amusement  came  into  his  eyes.  "  Yes, 
very  provincial,"  he  assented  indulgently.  "  Very  old- 
fashioned  and  provincial.  The  only  place  on  earth,  I 
suppose,"  slowly,  "  where  there  are  still  any  of  the 
virtues  left!  " 

"I'm  sure  you  refer  to  feminine  virtues  —  those 
that  are  left!  "  she  retorted.  "  Kingsville  men  were 
never  distinguished  for  their  virtues,  were  they?  " 

A  look  of  understanding  passed  between  them. 
Through  the  tense  stillness  she  heard  the  muffled  roar 
of  the  street  traffic  outside  and  she  could  hear  with 
extraordinary,  almost  irritating  distinctness  the  sharp 
ticking  of  a  clock  in  the  room. 

He  broke  the  stillness.  "  Lydia,  I  have  some  natu- 
ral curiosity.  Why  did  you  send  for  me?  Can  I  be 
of  use  to  you  ?  I  judge  you've  left  your  husband,  from 
the  fact  you've  taken  back  your  name." 

She  looked  at  him.  astounded.  "  My  husband !  " 
she  breathed.  And  then  she  saw  him  start. 

"  Good  God,  you're  married,  aren't  you?  " 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  her  face.  "  Mar- 
ried? Not  exactly.  .  .  ." 

'  You  don't  mean  to  say  —  you  were  never  mar- 
ried? Why,  you  wrote  the  Pooles — " 

'  Yes,  I  wrote  the  Pooles  — "  she  interrupted  him, 
her  voice  ominously  calm. 

;'  Why,  what  does  it  mean,  then?  You've  evidently 
been  very  successful  —  in  some  line !  "  His  eyes  ran 
swift  and  puzzled  over  the  luxurious  rooms. 


316  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"Yes,  very  successful!"  she  answered  slowly,  in  a 
barely  audible  voice. 

Everything  inside  her  seemed  somehow  breaking  up, 
leaving  her  naked  and  defenceless  before  him.  Her 
lower  lip  was  quivering  —  quivering  exactly  as  long 
years  ago  it  had  quivered  when  Miss  Barker  scolded 
her  for  a  torn  or  soiled  dress. 

"Very  successful  —  in  an  old,  old  line!"  she  said. 
Her  eyes  were  riveted  on  his  with  strange  wistfulness. 
.  .  .  And  then  he  sprang  from  his  chair  and  had  her 
in  his  arms.  And  to  her  the  whole  roof  of  the  uni- 
verse was  riven,  and  heaven  descended! 

"  My  poor  little  Lydia !  "  he  cried  brokenly,  hold- 
ing her  to  him,  comprehending  everything.  "  My 
poor  little  Lydia !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 


,  you  poor  little  fierce  heart,  what  you've 
passed  through !  And  your  beauty  and  charm 
not  damaged,  dear,  no,  not  a  bit!  "  He  held  her  face 
in  his  hands  and  gazed  at  it. 

They  had  been  talking  now  a  long  time.  It  seemed, 
they  both  said,  as  if,  if  they  talked  together  the  rest 
of  their  lives,  they  would  never  finish  all  that  they  had 
to  say  to  each  other. 

She  had  disclosed  to  him  her  life,  almost  without 
reservation,  and  he  had  understood  her,  and  all  the 
motives  that  had  actuated  her,  even  better  than  she  had 
ever  understood  herself.  She  had  told  him  things  she 
had  not  dreamed  would  ever  pass  her  lips.  And  in  the 
telling,  there  was  a  feeling  of  victory,  not  shame,  vic- 
tory over  herself.  From  this  confessional,  she  was  to 
arise  cleansed,  with  power  to  begin  life  anew,  aright. 

But  there  was  one  burden  on  her  soul  that  she  did 
not  cast  off  —  the  theft  of  Faidley's  money.  Ransom 
Churchwell  could  forgive  her  all  the  infamous  things 
she  had  revealed  to  him  —  she  could  still  be  his  love, 
his  "  little  Lydia,"  after  it  all.  But  she  would  never 
be  the  same  to  him  again  —  if  he  knew  her  a  thief! 
He  would  always  think  of  her,  always  see  her,  a  thief. 
No,  she  could  never  tell  him.  That  knowledge  she 
must  bear  alone. 

317 


3i8  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

ii 

For  the  second  time  he  said:  "  The  miracle  to  me, 
Lydia,  is  how  you  have  ever  lived  through  it  all!  " 

She  had  told  him  of  her  struggles  through  the  first 
years  after  Peter  was  born;  had  told  him  a  little,  not 
much  —  some  reticence  here  she  barely  comprehended 
held  her  back  —  of  those  stupefied,  trancelike  days, 
in  the  little  room  over  Rathemacher's  grocery-shop, 
before  Peter's  birth;  told  him  of  buying  the  wedding- 
ring  and  putting  it  on  her  finger  and  wearing  it  for 
years,  and  with  that  he  had  broken  down  and  sobbed. 
She  had  told  him  how  in  the  evenings  after  her  day's 
work,  she  and  Peter  would  play  their  exciting  happy- 
sad  game  of  choosing  out  of  the  shop-windows  what 
they  would  have  for  theirs,  if  they  could.  "  My  poor 
little  babes ! "  he  had  cried,  in  an  agony  of  re- 
morse. .  .  . 

They  talked,  now,  both  of  them,  as  if  all  the  trou- 
bles were  over,  as  if,  now  they  were  together  again, 
all  of  evil  and  sorrow  that  had  been  in  the  past  was 
over  forever,  as  if  there  were  no  more  problems  of 
existence  to  be  faced.  To  Lydia,  for  all  the  sadness 
of  it,  the  hour  was  so  rich,  so  happy,  it  seemed  to  pay 
for  all  the  suffering  she  had  ever  known. 

ill 

'  You  don't  see  how  I  endured  it,  you  don't  see  how 
I've  ever  lived  at  all,  with  the  disgrace  and  ignominy, 
and  those  years  of  humiliation  when  I  was  a  servant 
.  .  .  and  everything  since.  Why,  Ransom,  life's  so 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  319 

queer  —  I've  found  out  that!  I've  had  moments,  I 
have  them  every  day,  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  ex- 
plain to  you  exactly,  but  the  street  lights  reflected  in 
long,  shining  paths  across  the  pavements  on  a  wet 
night,  or  a  scent  you  catch  that  brings  back  something 
in  the  past  to  you,  or  just  the  dry  crackle  of  leaves 
under  your  feet  in  the  fall,  or  the  outlines  of  trees, 
like  those  tall,  graceful,  delicate  trees  you  see  in 
France,  with  their  little  trembling  tuft  of  leaves  at  the 
top  —  why,  little  things  like  that  —  move  me  —  I 
can't  tell  you  how  —  to  such  unbounded  delight !  And 
they're  always  occurring,  every  day,  so  that  you  can 
live  along  .  .  .  and  endure  things  .  .  .  the  other 
things !  And  then,  of  course,  I've  had  —  Peter ! 
He's  bad  sometimes,  very  often  in  fact,  he's  a  real  boy, 
but  .  .  .  well,  he's  just  Peter;  I  can't  describe  him! 
Really,  you  can't  imagine  how  adorable  Peter  is!  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can,  too !  He's  the  son  of  an  adorable 
mother!  " 

He  held  her  close,  in  an  impassioned  embrace,  till 
she  was  almost  impatient  of  his  ardour  —  she  wanted 
to  tell  him  all  about  Peter.  It  flashed  through  her 
that  his  two  children,  his  legitimate  children,  the  two 
born  before  she  left  Kingsville  —  she  did  not  know 
what  children  there  might  have  been  since  —  would  be 
big  lads  now.  Violent  jealousy  for  Peter's  rights 
gripped  her —  Peter  who  had  known  nothing  of  all  the 
benefits  of  Ransom  Churchwell  for  a  father  that  those 
other  boys  had  known.  Every  atom  of  the  universe 
was  glorified  since  Ransom  Churchwell  had  come  back 
into  her  life;  but  down  in  the  deeps  of  her  heart  was 


320  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

a  love  for  Peter,  Peter  whom  she  had  worked  for, 
whom  she  had  suffered  with  —  more  tender,  more 
utterly  inalienable,  greater  than  any  other  love  she 
could  ever  know.  It  welled  up  very  strong  in  her  now. 

"He  will  be  so  disappointed  —  poor  little  chap  — 
that  he  couldn't  come  to-day.  It's  been  months  since 
we've  seen  each  other,  such  a  long  time  —  for  both  of 
us!" 

And  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  broke  down  com- 
pletely herself,  and  cried  softly  and  a  long  time,  her 
head  on  Churchwell's  shoulder  —  his  stroking  hands, 
his  lips  on  her  wet  cheek,  striving  to  console  her. 

"  But  you  see  —  Peter  —  I  know  how  he  is,"  she 
answered  chokingly  to  Churchwell's  sympathetic  words, 
"  I  know  just  how  he  is  —  he's  had  so  many  disap- 
pointments, and  he's  so  stormy  and  intense  ...  his 
heart  will  be  broken!  He  won't  believe  in  me  any 
longer!  He'll  be  so  desolate,  and  feel  so  deserted  — 
he'll  want  to  die!  Oh,  I  know,  I've  been  through  it 
all  .  .  .  what  he's  going  through  — " 

"  Hush,  hush,  dear,  I  know !  I  know !  YouVe 
been  through  so  much,  and  now  the  flood-gates  are  un- 
loosed at  last!  I  know!  But  Peter's  only  a  child  — 
you  can  make  it  up  to  him,  you  can  make  him  forget 
it  in  a  minute  —  you  can  see  him  to-morrow!  It's  all 
right,  it's  all  right,  little  Lydia,  don't  cry  any  more! 
We'll  make  it  up  to  Peter  to-morrow!  " 

He  even  teased  her  a  little,  and  told  her  he  was 
jealous  of  Peter,  and  that  if  she  didn't  stop  crying,  he 
should  have  to  go,  and  Peter  would  have  to  come  and 
take  his  place,  as  he  could  not  make  her  happy. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  321 

After  a  while,  she  smiled  once  more,  and  they  talked 
together  again  of  things  in  the  past,  and  in  the  present 
—  not  yet  of  things  in  the  future. 

The  room  was  dark  now.  Lydia  rose,  turned  on 
the  lights  in  one  of  the  softly-shaded  lamps,  and  left 
the  room.  She  did  not  want  him  to  see  her  face 
stained  with  tears. 


IV 

There  was  one  point  in  their  talk  that  did  not  satisfy 
her.  An  old  suspicion  that  had  haunted  her  cease- 
lessly during  those  numb,  lonely  days  when  she  was 
waiting  for  Peter's  birth  came  back  now  to  torment  her 
with  fresh  force,  no  matter  what  they  spoke  of,  no 
matter  how  resolutely  she  tried  to  put  it  away  from  her. 

"  Ransom,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing  — "  she 
said,  fixing  her  eyes  on  him  solemnly.  He  was  sitting 
by  her,  her  hands  fast  in  his,  telling  her  with  every 
breath  all  she  was  to  him,  all  he  had  suffered  in  losing 
her  from  his  life  .  .  .  how  poorly  existence  had  com- 
pensated him  for  giving  her  up.  "  Ransom,  tell  me 
one  thing.  You  must  not  shrink  from  telling  me,  for 
I'm  sure  I  could  forgive  you  anything.  Why,  look 
what  you've  forgiven  me!  But  I  must  know  —  you 
can't  believe  how  it's  tormented  me  all  these  years! 
.  .  .  Ransom,  did  you  suspect  my  condition  when  you 
sent  me  that  last  letter  —  when  you  left  me  ...  here 
.  .  .  alone?" 

His  hands  tightened  on  hers  convulsively.  "  Lydia, 
for  God's  sake,  how  can  you  ask  me  that?  I've  been 


322  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

reprobate  enough,  God  knows,  but  I'm  not  entirely 
devoid  of  decency !  " 

She  wanted  to  believe  him.  Oh,  never  had  she 
wanted  anything  more  in  her  life !  "  You  swear  — 
you  swear  it — Ransom?  That  you  didn't  suspect 
anything?  " 

"I  swear  it!  I  swear  it!  I  swear  by  everything 
holy  that  I  did  not  dream  — " 

"  No,  no,  don't  swear  by  everything  holy,  Ransom," 
she  broke  in  on  him,  in  a  low  voice.  "  An  oath  by  the 
old  God  that  no  one  believes  in  any  longer,  that  you 
don't  believe  in  yourself,  only  you're  afraid  to  say  so, 
because  .  .  .  because  you're  a  Kingsvillian  —  an  oath 
of  that  kind,  the  old  kind,  doesn't  satisfy  me !  I  must 
know,  oh,  Ransom,  I  must  know  the  truth!  I  must 
know  the  truth !  There's  only  one  name  I  know  you 
wouldn't  swear  falsely  by,  it's  not  God's,  it's  not 
God's!  It's  my  father's!"  she  cried.  "It's  my 
father's  name !  "  She  felt  Churchwell's  hands  loosen 
their  hold  on  hers  and  her  heart  died  within  her. 
"  Swear  by  the  name  of  my  father,  Ransom !  " 

His  lips  worked,  but  they  uttered  no  sound.  He 
moved  away  from  her,  freeing  himself  from  her  touch, 
even  from  the  contact  of  her  garments. 

"  You  have  my  answer,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  a  toneless 
voice. 

She  hid  her  face.     She  could  not  look  on  his  shame. 

After  a  long  while,  he  said,  speaking  as  if  he  were 
lifting  some  great  load  on  his  breast  with  every  word 
he  uttered  — "  I  couldn't  swear  falsely  ...  by  the 
name  ...  of  my  friend  .  .  .  your  father.  .  .  ." 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  323 

Terrible,  endless  moments  passed.  Then  he  spoke 
again,  "  You  know  me  a  coward.  There  is  nothing 
lower  for  a  man  to  confess  to,  than  what  I've  confessed 
to  —  what  you  made  me  confess  to !  I  wasn't  man 
enough  to  confess  it  otherwise.  A  coward  there,  too, 
you  see !  "  he  added,  with  bitterness,  almost  with  re- 
sentment. 

Looking  up,  she  saw  that  he  had  bent  over,  dropping 
his  head  into  his  hands. 

"  Ransom,"  she  said  falteringly.  She  did  not  know 
just  why  she  spoke  his  name.  She  was  flooded  with 
such  strangely  mingled,  contradictory  emotions. 
"  Ransom !  "  But  she  could  not  say  more.  Every- 
thing in  the  world  had  become  suddenly  utterly  hope- 
less. 

"  I  don't  know,  Lydia  —  I  don't  know  but  it's  more 
contemptible  to  try  to  explain  than  to  keep  silent.  But 
I  want  to  say,  anyhow,  that  though  I  did  suspect  some- 
thing —  from  what  you  threw  out  .  .  .  that  day  we 
were  in  the  country  —  I  had  an  idea  you'd  be  able  to 
take  care  of  things  all  right,  yourself  —  if  I  left  you 
money  to  see  things  through  with.  All  men,  I  sup- 
pose, dread  such  complications.  .  .  .  No,  no,  I'll  take 
that  back!  I  won't  implicate  other  men!  I  won't 
undertake  to  say  how  they  feel  or  how  they  would  act 
under  similar  circumstances!  I  won't  implicate  other 
men  in  my  guilt!  Perhaps  I'm  the  lowest  of  my  sex. 
...  I  don't  know  .  .  .  but  anyhow,  I  didn't  dream 
things  would  go  on  ...  and  there  would  be  a  child. 
...  I  suppose  I  didn't  properly  estimate  your  inno- 
cence .  .  .  and  I  thought  that  if  I  provided  you  with 


324  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

money,  you'd  get  along  all  right.  .  .  .  Of  course,  I 
can't  remember  exactly  the  line  of  reasoning  I  followed 
at  the  time  .  .  .  it's  a  long  time  ago.  .  .  .  But  I 
knew  through  it  all,  I  loved  you,  as  I'd  never  loved 
any  one  else  .  .  .  and  as  I  never  shall  love  any  one 
else.  .  .  ." 

With  this  expressionless,  passionless  statement  of  his 
love  for  her,  something  more  completely  reassuring 
swept  over  her  than  had  in  moments  of  his  most  burn- 
ing declarations.  .  .  .  Afterwards,  many  times,  she 
was  to  bring  back  to  her  mind  the  way,  precisely  the 
way,  he  was  speaking  to  her  now  of  his  love  for  her, 
bring  it  back  to  cherish  it  —  the  most  radiant  jewel  in 
her  memory  of  him. 

"  I  knew  how  I  loved  you,"  he  went  on.  "  I  knew 
it  was  getting  —  dangerous,  for  both  of  us,  the  way 
the  attachment  was  growing  .  .  .  and  of  course  there 
were  many  things  to  be  taken  into  consideration  .  .  . 
with  both  of  us  ...  and  so  it  seemed  the  only  thing 
was  ...  to  break  off.  .  .  .  And  soon  afterwards  I 
heard  from  Mr.  Poole  you  were  married  —  you'd 
written  them.  I  didn't  doubt  it  —  you  believe  that, 
don't  you?  —  and  I  was  greatly  relieved  that  it  was 
so!" 


Several  times,  in  his  slow,  painful,  toneless  talk, 
Churchwell  had  dropped  into  the  Kingsville  vernacu- 
lar. How  odd  the  once  familiar  expressions  sounded 
in  Lydia's  ears !  "  I  don't  reckon,"  he  said,  rather 
helplessly,  "  I  don't  reckon  there's  anything  lower  for 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  325 

a  man  to  admit  than  —  cowardice,  but  such  as  I  am, 
Lydia,  I  offer  myself  to  you,  for  your  use,  as  you  will 
with  me.  I'll  try  to  atone  the  best  I  can  for  all  the 
suffering  I've  brought  on  you  —  for  what  I've  caused 
you  to  become  —  I'll  try  to  atone  for  my  cowardice ! 
I'll  give  my  life,  the  rest  of  it,  to  making  everything 
as  —  good,  for  you,  as  I  can,  for  you  and  the  boy !  " 

"Oh,  Ransom,  Ransom!"  she  cried,  "oh,  don't 
look  the  way  you  do,  don't  look  the  way  you  do ! 
That's  all  I  ask !  Oh,  my  dearest,  my  beloved,  my  one 
love,  why,  don't  you  know  I  forgive  you  ?  Oh,  I  for- 
give you  everything!  Suppose  you  were  cowardly, 
you  didn't  know  what  it  would  all  lead  to  —  and  .  .  . 
and,  Ransom,  never  mind,  never  mind,  forget  every- 
thing —  except  our  love  !  Except  that!  " 

She  drew  him  to  her  arms  and  rained  kisses  upon  his 
drawn  face.  She  lavished  endearments  on  him  in  a 
frenzy  of  love  and  pity.  She  could  not  bear  to  see  him 
so  abased  before  her.  "  Oh,  Ransom,  my  darling,  my 
lover!  We're  not  gods  and  goddesses!  We're  just 
men  and  women  .  .  .  and  we're  capable  of  so  much 
that's  bad,  but  then  we're  capable  of  so  much  that's 
good,  too!  And  you're  so  big  and  generous  and 
splendid  in  a  thousand  ways !  Oh,  my  own  love,  how 
could  I  live  at  all  in  your  sight  —  think  of  that " 
—  she  whispered — "  with  the  wickedness  you  know  of 
me  —  if  I  hadn't  found  this  one  blot  on  your  escutch- 
eon! "  She  wrapped  him  in  her  love,  comforted  him, 
brought  him  back  after  a  while  to  a  better  esteem  of 
himself,  into  close  sympathy  with  her.  ...  At  last, 
they  could  smile  together  again,  talk  and  plan. 


326  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

VI 

He  spoke  of  nothing  else  so  earnestly  now  as  of 
atonement.  At  first,  she  had  hardly  understood  him, 
hardly  dared  understand  what  he  meant.  He  had 
given,  he  said,  the  best  of  his  life  to  others  who  had 
claims  upon  him,  now  her  claims  should  be  considered. 
He  could  provide  for  his  wife  and  children  well  — 
they  would  have  the  home,  and  he  would  arrange  that 
they  should  have  by  far  the  greater  part  of  all  he  pos- 
sessed. For  his  little  new  family  —  at  this  they  both 
laughed,  though  a  little  shyly  —  he  would  retain  only 
a  little,  enough  to  start  with,  but  he  would  give  himself, 
and  all  his  energies,  to  them  —  all  the  years  to  come 
—  to  them! 

They  talked  of  things  practically,  and  joyously,  and 
finally  almost  with  exaltation.  It  was  as  if  they  had 
been  snatched  from  barely-averted  death  back  into  the 
full  warm  tide  of  life;  they  could  not  be  thankful 
enough  for  their  escape,  happy  enough.  He  was  to 
go  back  to  Kingsville  the  next  evening,  where  — 
secretly  as  possible,  there  was  no  need  to  raise  a  hue 
and  cry  till  he  was  actually  gone  —  he  would  make  ar- 
rangements. It  was  quite  useless,  he  said,  to  consider 
divorce,  because  there  were  no  legal  grounds  on  which 
he  could  secure  a  divorce  from  his  wife,  and  she  was 
so  constituted  that  she  would  never  procure  one  from 
him,  particularly  if  she  thought  he  desired  it.  He  did 
not  speak  of  his  children  except  in  a  general  term  as 
his  "  children,"  and  a  certain  timidity  restrained  Lydia 
from  questioning  him. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  327 

At  a  rose-decked,  exquisitely  appointed  table,  their 
dinner  was  served  them,  a  dinner  brimming  full,  over- 
flowing with  happy  excitement.  Of  the  two  of  them, 
Lydia  felt  he  was  the  more  intoxicated  with  all  these 
anticipations.  Neither  of  them  ate  or  drank  much, 
and  she  assured  him  laughingly  that  she  had  not  sup- 
posed anything  in  the  world  could  diminish  a  man's 
zest  for  his  dinner!  He  praised  her  taste  in  the  meal 
that  was  served,  and  she  received  his  praise  with  a 
queerly  mingled  shame  and  pride.  They  talked  of  old 
days  together  .  .  .  spoke  of  Mephisto's,  in  hushed 
voices,  remembering  the  torrential  passion  of  their  first, 
fresh  love.  Mephisto's  was  gone  out  of  existence  now, 
she  told  him,  closed  forever.  But  their  love,  they 
whispered  to  each  other,  that  had  survived  Mephisto's ! 

And  then  after  the  coffee  and  liqueurs  and  cigarettes 
they  planned  again.  She  got  out  her  Baedeker's  and 
they  studied  maps.  For  now  they  were  considering  in 
what,  country  they  would  begin  their  life  together. 
He  thought  it  had  better  be  an  English-speaking 
country;  except  a  fool  college  French,  and  precious 
little  even  of  that,  he  was  able  to  speak  only  his  own 
language;  and  they  would  have  to  depend  to  a  great 
extent  on  his  future  activities,  because  the  property 
that  he  felt  justified  in  converting  into  cash  would  only 
support  them  for  a  short  time.  He  wished  to  provide 
too  well,  rather  than  not  well  enough,  for  those  left 
behind,  and  she  agreed  with  him  heartily.  They,  he 
and  she,  must  make  the  material  sacrifices,  because  they 
would  have  always  the  great  compensation  —  their 
love !  .  .  .  Would  she  be  afraid  to  face  poverty  with 


328  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

him?  Oh,  no,  no,  no!  After  what  she  had  known, 
how  sweet  poverty  would  be  with  him,  her  lover,  Ran- 
som Churchwell,  hers  now  forever! 

They  talked  of  Bermuda  and  of  the  Bahamas,  of 
Jamaica  and  Canada,  and  even  of  Alaska.  They 
spoke  of  England,  but  England,  they  realised  almost 
at  once,  was  not  for  them!  England  was  too  staid, 
too  law-abiding  to  the  marrow  of  her,  for  such  as 
they,  more  or  less  vagabonds  henceforth.  No,  not 
England. 

Australia  they  dwelt  on  longer  and  with  more  hope, 
looking  over  together  routes  and  steam-ship  sailings. 
.  .  .  But  all  that  could  be  settled  in  the  days  immedi- 
ately to  come.  "  While  I'm  gone,  you,  Miss  Aris- 
totle," he  said,  with  something  of  the  old  mischievous 
look  in  his  eyes,  "  you,  with  your  ubiquitous  knowledge, 
can  be  weighing  the  relative  advantages  for  us  of  these 
different  countries !  " 

"  The  only  thing  I  fear,  Ransom,  is  that  some  day, 
when  you  can  never  go  back  any  more,  you'll  feel  this 
terrible  homesickness  for  Kingsville  that  I  feel,  and  — " 

"  For  Kingsville  —  the  '  quintessence  of  the  provin- 
cial ' —  wasn't  that  what  you  called  it?  "  he  interrupted 
her,  pinching  her  cheek.  "  So  you  think  that  my  pro- 
vincial soul  will  never  be  content  away  from  the  con- 
genial provincialism  of  its  native  place!  " 

"  Seriously,  Ransom,  nothing,  nothing,  has  been 
harder  for  me  to  bear  than  the  thought  that  I  can  never 
go  back  to  Kingsville  again !  You  see  you  don't  know 
yet  what  that  feeling  is  —  exile!  I  could  never  de- 
scribe to  you  what  it  feels  like,  but  it's  an  awful  rest- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  329 

lessness  that  never  leaves  you,  a  burning  envy  of  every 
one  who  can  stay  there,  who  can  live  in  Kingsville 
when  you  can't,  and  it's  a  dull  pain  in  you  somewhere 
that  never  ceases,  never,  day  or  night!  Why,  Ran- 
som, there  have  been  times  when  I've  felt  I'd  rather  — 
I'd  rather  " —  her  voice  shook  with  stifled  sobs  — "  be 
back  in  Kingsville  and  be  one  of  those  miserable  little 
waif  dogs  that  used  to  pick  up  scraps  around  the 
Market  House  than  to  be  the  grandest  person  in  the 
world  anywhere  else  !  " 

"  Lydia,  poor  little  child!  You'll  have  a  part  of 
Kingsville  with  you  all  the  time,  after  this.  A  poor 
part,  but  a  part.  Perhaps  this  poor  part  can  make  up 
to  you  ...  a  little.  .  .  ." 

'  You'll  think  it's  ridiculous,"  she  began  again,  when 
she  could  command  her  voice  once  more,  "  you'll  think 
it's  ridiculous,  but  it's  true  —  what  do  you  suppose  I 
loved  the  best  in  London  —  the  pictures  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery?  No  —  the  smell !  " 

He  laughed. 

'  Yes,  actually,  the  smell,  that  smell  that  every  one 
else  hates !  And  because  the  smell  of  London  is  just 
like  the  smell  of  Kingsville !  It's  the  soft-coal  smoke 
and  something  soft  and  damp  in  the  air.  Why,  the 
first  time  I  went  to  London,  I  was  simply  mad  with  joy 
.  .  .  and  sadness,  too,  because  it  smelled  like  — 
home!" 

Her  voice  caught  again,  with  her  last  word. 

"  You're  thinking  about  Kingsville,  now !  "  he  said. 
"Your  eyes  are  a  thousand  miles  away!"  He  bent 
over  her  and  kissed  her  absent  eyes. 


330  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

She  smiled  happily,  though  a  little  wistfully. 

"  Why,  here !  "  he  teased  her,  "  I  see  I'm  going  to 
be  even  more  jealous  of  Kingsville  than  of  Peter!  " 

She  laughed  and  snuggled  closer  to  him.  There  was 
something  so  comforting  in  his  breast  for  her  head, 
weary  with  trying  to  worry  out  life  alone,  in  the  feel 
of  his  strong  arms  about  her. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  now,  child  of  my  dreams," 
he  admitted,  bending  over  her  again,  "  I  don't  feel 
any  such  passion  for  Kingsville  as  you  confess  to !  " 

"  But  you  don't  know — " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  ever  should,  under  any  circum- 
stances. You've  idealised  Kingsville,  Lydia !  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  objected,  "  it  was  just  that  way  years 
ago,  when  I  lived  there,  even  when  I  was  a  little  child 
—  I  hated  the  place,  but  all  the  time  I  absolutely 
adored  it  —  just  as  you  adore  people  and  hate  them 
at  the  same  time !  .  .  .  Of  course,  I  was  only  an  alien 
there,  really,  and  there's  no  place  else  in  the  world,  I 
suppose,  where  an  alien  is  more  truly  an  alien  than  in 
Kingsville!" 

"  I  have  an  idea,  Lydia,  that  perhaps  it  is  just  be- 
cause you  were  an  alien  that  you've  accumulated  all 
this  sentiment  about  Kingsville.  Why,  the  place  is  full 
of  my  aunts  and  cousins  —  the  whole  population  is 
my — " 

"  *  Kin  '  I  " —  she  supplied,  her  eyes  smiling  up  at 
him.  She  knew  the  word  he  would  have  used. 

"  Yes,  '  kin  ' !  The  town  was  founded  by  my  ances- 
tors and  all  that,  and  yet,  frankly,  it  won't  give  me 
much  of  a  wrench  to  leave  Kingsville  —  itself." —  his 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  331 

voice  faltered  a  little,  but  almost  immediately  he  went 
on  in  an  ordinary  tone — "I  know  Kingsville  better 
than  you  do,  Lydia;  I  have  no  illusions  about  Kings- 
ville I  Oh,  I  can  live  away  from  Kingsville,  I  promise 
you !  " 

"  I  always  thought  it  must  be  the  height  of  happiness 
to  live  where  your  ancestors  have  lived,  and  your  aunts 
and  cousins,  all  your  kindred,  around  you.  .  .  .  I've 
always  been  so  solitary  myself.  .  .  ."  Her  eyes 
looked  off  into  space  again. 

"  It's  far  nearer  the  height  of  happiness  to  dwell 
where  your  love  dwells  —  wherever  that  is  I  "  he  whis- 
pered. "  And  never  mind,  treasure,  Peter  and  I'll  be 
aunts  and  cousins  to  you  I  You  shall  never  be  solitary 
any  more  1  " 

VII 

The  hour  of  leave-taking  came;  and  now  he  spoke 
to  her  openly  of  his  wife.  "  I'm  not  afraid  it'll  hurt 
her,  except  her  pride,"  he  said.  "  I've  treated  her 
with  consideration,  I  think,  during  our  married  life, 
the  sort  of  consideration  she  wanted,  and  I  believe  she 
has  affection  for  me  —  we've  never  bickered,  she's  not 
the  fury  you  are,  child  of  my  heart,  so  there  have  never 
been  any  scenes.  But  I  believe  once  the  blow  to  her 
pride  is  healed  —  and  it  will  be  —  she'll  get  a  great 
deal  of  sympathy,  the  whole  town  will  give  it  to  her 
—  she'll  be  all  right.  She's  a  woman  to  whom  her 
own  physical  comfort  is  the  supreme  consideration  in 
life.  Fortunately  I  won't  have  to  interfere  with  that. 
I  can  leave  her  enough  to  assure  that  permanently,  and 


332  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

so  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  doing  her  an  irreparable 
wrong  in  removing  myself !  You  think,  Lydia,  because 
I've  never  known  poverty  or  any  special  deprivation 
in  a  material  way,  that  I  haven't  tasted  any  of  the  bit- 
ter of  life,  but  I  have !  Why,  dear,  one  moment,  such 
as  I've  known  with  you,  has  had  more  joy  in  it  for  me 
than  the  whole  sixteen  years  with  her  put  together!  " 
They  were  standing  in  the  long,  dimly-lighted  hall,  and 
he  held  her  slim,  white-clad  figure  to  him.  "  Your 
little  finger,  the  very  tip  of  your  little  finger,  child," 
he  told  her,  huskily,  "  is  more  precious  to  me  than  all 
of  her  —  ever  was !  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  wonder  of  it  —  that  it  was  all 
just  as  it  had  been  before,  all  those  years  ago  —  the 
torturing  delight,  the  same  exquisite,  wild  ecstasy  — 
Maxfield's  coarse  guffaw  smote  on  her  ears  again,  "  A 
ladies'  man —  I  should  say  so!  "  She  savoured  with 
whirlwind  fury  other  women  clasped  in  his  arms  as 
she  now !  "  Oh,  Ransom,  I  can't  endure,  I  can't  en- 
dure it,  the  thought  of  the  women  —  in  these  years 
we've  been  separated!  Tell  me,  tell  me,  you  didn't 
love  them,  any  of  them,  those  women,  since  .  .  .  since 
.  .  .  you  left  me.  .  .  ." 

He  crushed  her  to  his  heart.  "  When  will  you  ever 
understand?  Oh,  my  sweetheart,  my  sweetheart,  in 
my  heart  has  been  but  one  image  —  yours !  Many, 
many  times,  in  these  years  we've  been  separated,  I've 
waked  in  the  dead  of  night  with  your  name  on  my  lips ! 
Oh,  you  must  understand,  child,  that  you,  you  alone, 
have  fulfilled  the  dreams  of  my  youth  and  my  man- 
hood!" 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  333 

Their  lips  met.  "  Till  to-morrow!  "  he  whispered. 
And  then  she  was  alone,  staggered  with  happiness, 
though  a  feeling  of  the  unreality  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened stole  over  her  as  soon  as  he  had  vanished,  as 
soon  as  flesh  and  blood  he  was  removed  from  the  touch 
of  her  fingers. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN  the  morning,  they  were  to  take  the  train  out  to 
Peter's  school.  How  overjoyed  Peter  would  be  to 
see  them !  Lydia  was  quite  sure  Churchwell  would 
win  Peter;  but  she  was  not  to  reveal  at  once  his  iden- 
tity; Peter  must  be  gradually  prepared  for  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  Indian  fighter,  his  father,  had  not 
after  all  been  killed,  but  was  here,  alive  and  well,  to 
live  with  them  forevermore.  She  and  Churchwell 
would  have  to  do  some  rehearsing  together  on  the  de- 
tails of  those  Indian  fights  in  which  she  had  made  him 
so  gallant  a  figure. 

They  could  invent  between  them  some  explanation 
to  account  for  the  years  of  his  absence  and  silence. 
Peter  would  not,  she  thought,  interrogate  them  em- 
barrassingly. He  would  sense  at  once,  in  the  uncanny 
way  he  had  of  sensing  such  things,  that  there  was  some 
mystery  here  he  was  not  intended  to  solve,  and  he  would 
not  attempt  to  solve  it,  at  least  not  through  them.  She 
realised  with  a  shock  that  he  would  always  be  mystified 
about  his  parents  and  their  past  lives,  just  as  she  had 
always  been  about  hers.  But,  at  any  rate,  he  was 
going  to  have  a  great  deal  of  recompense  now  in  a 
happy  future  —  in  a  "  regalar  "  father  such  as  he  had 
envied  the  "  other  boys,"  in  a  real  home,  at  last,  some- 
where. 

334 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  335 

II 

In  the  morning,  she  heard  Churchwell's  voice  at  the 
door  much  earlier  than  she  had  expected.  Why  had 
he  come  so  early?  A  feeling  of  foreboding  came  over 
her.  She  was  not  ready  to  join  him,  but  without 
changing  her  delicate  neglige  garment,  her  hair  tucked 
up  carelessly,  she  ran  with  a  faint  outcry  to  the  door 
of  the  little  salon. 

"  Ransom!  "  The  name  froze  on  her  lips;  she  put 
out  her  hand  to  the  door-frame  for  support.  All  she 
was  to  learn,  she  learned  then,  the  instant  her  eyes  be- 
held him.  He  was  rising  from  a  chair,  weakly  and 
uncertainly;  his  face  was  ashy  and  haggard;  he  looked 
like  an  old  man.  There  was  a  defenceless  look  in  his 
imploring  eyes. 

But  it  was  not  pity  for  him  that  convulsed  her  body ! 
Later,  not  then. 

A -kind  of  unholy  lightness  seized  on  her,  an  ecstasy 
of  fear,  hate,  despair! 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  me  a  note  —  again  —  with 
some  bills  in  it?  It  would  have  been  easier  for  you  — 
wouldn't  it?  "  she  asked. 

"Lydia!" 

"  Oh,  you  don't  need  to  tell  me  anything!  I  know 
everything  you  have  to  say !  I'll  spare  you  saying  it ! 
But  don't  wait  for  the  night  train!  Don't  linger  to 
make  any  explanations  to  me !  Fly  to  safety  —  to  the 
arms  of  your  wife  whom  you  must  save  from  all  incon- 
venience, now  you've  had  the  night  to  think  it  over! 
I  can  stand  these  blows !  I'm  used  to  them !  I'm  ac- 


336  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

quainted  with  the  whole  gamut  of  perdition !  But  not 
your  wife,  your  spotless  Seraphina  — " 

"  You  don't  understand,  Lydia.  There  are  oth- 
ers—" 

"  Yes,  others!  Your  children,  your  Kingsville  chil- 
dren —  those  with  Seraphina's  pure  blood  in  their 
veins!  Not  Peter,  it's  not  Peter  you're  thinking  of!  " 
she  cried. 

He  came  closer  to  her,  until  they  were  only  an  arm's 
length  apart.  "  One  of  my  children,  Lydia,  is  afflicted ! 
I  can't—" 

"  Don't  tell  me  anything  of  your  children  —  those 
children!  I'm  not  interested  in  them  —  nor  their  af- 
flictions," pitilessly.  "  There's  only  one  of  your  chil- 
dren that  interests  me  —  and  he's  afflicted,  too,  past 
cure,  afflicted  with  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  poor  little 
body  — '  Churchwell  blood  ' !  The  famous  '  Church- 
well  blood ' !  "  she  taunted  him,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
through  her  colourless  lips. 

"  I  forgot  everything  last  night,  Lydia,"  he  managed 
to  say,  managed  to  make  her  hear.  "  I  forgot  reason 
and  honour  and  everything.  .  .  ." 

"  Honour!  "  she  repeated  jeeringly. 

"  Yes,  honour,"  he  said  steadily.  "  You  must  sit 
down  and  let  me  talk  to  you  sanely." 

"  No,  I  won't  let  you  talk  to  me  sanely !  What  do 
I  want  of  sanity?  "  She  stamped  weakly  on  the  floor. 
"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  you  have  to  say,  not 
anything!  "  The  silken  folds  of  her  neglige  had  fallen 
apart,  disclosing  her  bare  throat  and  breast  and  the 
lace  of  her  night-dress,  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  any- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  337 

thing!  ''  she  reiterated  passionately.  "  You  came  back 
into  my  life,  into  this  gilded  hell  where  I  live  —  yes, 
oh,  yes,  I'm  talking  coarsely,  my  life's  not  been  as 
guarded  as  Seraphina's,  I've  words  in  my  vocabulary 
doubtless  she  doesn't  need  in  hers.  You  came  back 
into  my  life  and  raised  my  hopes  —  oh,  Ransom,  Ran- 
som," she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  "  you  raised  my 
hopes  to  heaven!  " 

He  tried  to  put  his  arms  around  her,  but  she  thrust 
him  away  from  her. 

"  And  now  .  .  .  now  .  .  .  you've  come  to  tell  me 
that,  after  all,  it's  better  just  to  let  me  stay  in  hell  — 
where  you  found  me,  than  to  disturb  Seraphina's 
peace !  I  have  the  means  to  kill  you,"  she  said,  lower- 
ing her  voice  to  a  whisper;  "  I  have  the  means  —  near 
at  hand!  A  woman  in  my  position  wouldn't  live,  you 
know,  without  the  means  to  put  some  one  else  or  her- 
self out  of  existence  quickly!  " 

'  Take  your  pleasure  with  me,  Lydia,"  he  answered, 
not  without  dignity.  "  Death  is  not  terrible  to  me, 
now.  It  is  only  life  that  is  terrible.  I  would  have 
finished  .myself  last  night,  after  I  left  you,  when  I  real- 
ised everything  —  the  ruin  I  should  work  whichever 
way  I  acted!  If  I  were  seeking  merely  the  easy  thing 
to  do,  I  would  have  put  an  end  to  myself  — " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that!  Not  so  sure  of 
that !  "  she  laughed  derisively  in  his  face.  "  These 
'  Southern  gentlemen  ' —  their  *  chivalry  ' —  their  brav- 
ery —  it's  a  myth,  largely !  I  doubt  very  much  if  you 
have  the  courage  to  put  an  end  to  yourself!  " 

Suddenly  she  stopped  herself. 


338  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

Through  the  closed  windows  came  faintly  the  sound 
of  church-bells. 

"  Church-bells  I  "  she  exclaimed.  "Do  you  hear 
them?  They're  calling  you  back  to  pass  the  plate  at 
St.  Mark's  next  Sunday  morning  —  as  usual  I  " 

He  tried  to  break  in  on  her,  tried  to  explain  why  he 
could  not  desert  his  responsibilities  in  Kingsville,  why 
that  brief,  ecstatic  dream  of  theirs  the  night  before,  of 
some  secret  corner  of  the  world  where  they  could  be 
each  other's  forever,  was  impossible.  When  he  in- 
sisted on  providing  in  future  for  her  and  Peter's  main- 
tenance, she  repulsed  his  offer  with  fury.  He  tried  to 
make  her  understand  that  his  love  for  her  had  never 
been  greater  or  more  pitiful  than  at  this  moment,  but 
she  would  not  let  him  put  the  weight  of  his  finger  on 
her.  She  would  hear  nothing.  She  commanded  him 
to  leave  her.  "  This  is  my  dwelling-place  —  you  dic- 
tate who  shall  come  into  your  house  —  I  dictate  in 
mine !  "  She  would  not  see  his  outstretched  arms,  or 
heed  his  entreaties,  or  listen  to  her  name  whispered 
over  and  over. 

in 

The  outer  door  closed  behind  him.  He  had  taken 
her  at  her  word.  Her  eyes  looked  blankly  in  the  di- 
rection he  had  gone.  He  must  come  back,  if  only  for 
a  moment!  She  must  touch  him!  She  must  feel  his 
lips,  his  arms !  She  must  hear  him  call  her  "  Lydia  " 
just  once,  again! 

"  Ransom,  come  back !  I  can't  live  without  you, 
Ransom!  Come  back!  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  339 

She  listened.  Were  those  his  returning  footsteps 
she  heard  in  the  hall  outside  her  apartment?  They 
died  away.  .  .  .  She  could  hear  the  elevator  ascend- 
ing and  descending,  ascending  and  descending.  Men 
in  silk  hats  and  women  in  handsome  clothes  were  start- 
ing out  to  church,  and  little  proper  children  in  nice 
Sabbath  garments.  She  heard  the  church-bells  clang- 
ing again.  The  room  was  full  of  sunshine,  Sabbath 
sunshine,  subtly  different  from  week-day  sunshine.  .  .  . 
Church-bells  and  Sabbath  sunshine.  .  .  .  But  for  her 
the  sun  was  blotted  out  forever.  Ransom  Churchwell 
was  gone,  irrevocably  this  time,  out  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  I 


MASSES  of  ice  floated  by  in  the  turbid  Arno  on 
which  the  windows  of  the  Pension  Paggi 
looked  down.  For  Italy,  it  was  a  winter  of  extreme 
severity,  and  the  confort  moderne,  which  the  Pension 
Paggi  advertised,  being  of  course  a  quite  relative  ex- 
pression, was  not  interpreted  by  beautiful  Signora 
Paggi,  nor  furnished  her  patrons,  in  terms  of  heat. 
There  were  the  same  inadequate  provisions  for  heat- 
ing this  otherwise  delightful  —  and  its  delights  were 
many  —  Pension  Paggi,  that  Lydia  had  known  so  well 
in  her  childhood  and  girlhood  in  Kingsville.  After 
all,  there  must  be  much  that  is  alike  in  all  Southern 
climes.  She  found  a  sort  of  tantalising  pleasure,  here 
as  elsewhere,  in  fancying  even  the  least  resemblance  to 
that  old  Southern  town  in  her  own  country  which  she 
would  never  see  again. 

Indeed,  days  with  fiercely  hot  sun  that  kept  breaking 
in  on  the  snow  and  storms  of  this  Florentine  winter 
were  very  like  those  springlike,  sweet-promising,  fickle 
days  she  remembered  of  a  Kingsville  winter. 

She  had  dreamed  all  her  life  —  as  who  that  dreams 
at  all  has  not  dreamed?  —  of  Italy.  And  now  she  was 
in  Italy.  There  had  been  the  first  few,  almost  inevita- 
ble, shocks.  She  could  not  reconcile  herself  at  once 

343 


344  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

to  the  Southern  churches,  to  their  motley  outer  garb, 
their  convict's  stripes  of  black  and  white;  to  an  inner 
aspect  of  them  she  found  bare  and  forbidding,  or  on 
the  other  hand,  and  more  often,  too  frivolously  gor- 
geous. She  felt  she  must  always  love  better  the  great 
grey  churches  her  eyes  had  beheld  first,  the  great 
churches  of  England  and  of  France,  athwart  whose 
mysterious  inner  gloom  she  remembered  rich  dark  rays 
piercing  slantingly  through  jewelled  windows.  She 
felt  she  must  always  care  more  for  Northern  churches 
and  like  better  Northern  galleries  —  she  was  fatigued 
with  Holy  Families  and  Saint  Sebastians.  She  derived 
small  joy  from  Botticelli's  delicate  minor  tones,  and  no 
particular  pleasure  from  his  sad,  visionary  faces.  She 
marvelled  that  people  so  much  loved  the  Delia  Robbias 
with  their  vivid,  uncompromising  yellows  and  blues  and 
greens  —  their  sweet  naivete  had  not  yet  touched  her. 

Nevertheless,  when  she  rose  these  winter  mornings, 
her  bed  chamber  flooded  with  sun,  and  looked  out  to 
the  hills  across  the  Arno,  those  velvet  Tuscan  hills, 
silvery  with  their  ancient  olive  orchards,  when  she 
looked  up  at  the  tall,  solemn  cypresses  that  in  gloomy 
grandeur  pointed  the  sky  from  the  hill  of  San  Miniato, 
she  said  to  herself,  catching  her  breath,  "  There  is  no 
place  else  in  the  world  so  beautiful  as  this!  " 

And  as  a  turn  of  a  dark,  narrow  street  in  her  morn- 
ing wanderings  brought  her  an  unexpected  and  enchant- 
ing vista  of  Brunelleschi's  great  dome  or  of  Arnolfo's 
slender,  flower-like  tower,  as  she  came  upon  a  peeling 
way-side  fresco  of  the  Virgin,  the  blink  of  a  little  light 
before  some  dark  street-corner  shrine,  or  looked  up  to 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  345 

a  sky  —  never  so  blue  before  —  as  she  heard  in  her 
ears  day-long  that  soft,  incomparable  melody  of  Italian 
voices  —  such  life,  laughter,  sobs,  colour  —  such  very 
tissue  of  drama  everywhere  —  she  would  say  to  her- 
self, again  breathlessly,  "  No,  no  other  land  like  this!  " 

So  she  said,  too,  when  alone,  or  with  Mr.  Van  Ant- 
werp, she  looked  down  from  windings  of  the  Viale  de' 
Colli  to  Florence  shimmering  below  in  the  afternoon 
sunshine,  or  from  the  heights  of  Fiesole,  where  on  a 
lofty  terrace  they  often  had  their  tea  —  Florence  far 
below,  all  her  towers  and  domes  bathed  in  the  rosy 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  the  Arno  winding  through  like 
a  silver  ribbon. 

But  for  the  healing  of  this  Italy  —  in  whose  beauty 
she  had  been  so  soon  thereafter  immersed  —  she  did 
not  know  how  she  could  have  lived  through  the  weeks 
—  three  months  past  now  —  since  Churchwell's  second 
coming  back  into  her  life  had  left  the  world  empty. 
She  believed  she  could  hardly  have  continued  to  live 
but  for  Italy  —  and  Peter. 

One  evening  towards  the  end  of  February  she  stood 
at  her  chamber  window  watching  the  lights  on  the  hill 
of  San  Miniato  opposite  as  one  by  one  they  pierced  with 
silver  the  purple  dusk.  She  wore  a  strand  of  small 
pearls  and  a  narrow  black  fillet  bound  her  hair,  and 
over  the  delicate  violet  of  her  thin  gown  she  had 
thrown  a  white  evening  cloak  edged  with  fur,  for  she 
was  perpetually  chilly,  and  in  the  evenings  and  morn- 
ings sometimes  suffered  acutely  from  cold.  She  had 
left  off  wearing  her  more  conspicuous  ornaments,  and 
though  she  thought  she  looked  more  attractive  with 


346  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

cosmetics,  she  had  for  the  time  given  up  using  them. 
She  wished  above  all  things  to  be  considered  a  lady  by 
the  people  at  the  Pension  Paggi. 

The  door  that  led  into  an  adjoining  chamber  was 
slightly  ajar,  and  she  could  hear  Mr.  Van  Antwerp, 
who  had  just  come  in,  moving  around  soft-footedly  in 
his  room,  dressing  for  dinner,  she  presumed  —  she  had 
not  seen  him  since  morning. 

In  the  afternoon  mail  she  had  had  a  letter  from 
Peter,  forwarded  from  a  Paris  address.  She  smiled 
to  herself.  The  letter  was  unusually  brief  for  Peter 
—  but  how  like  Peter  1 

"  Dear  Mother, 

"  You  said  they  wasnt  theives  in  this  school  but  they 
is.  I  found  my  skates.  I  found  them  on  a  boy  and 
he  has  now  got  2  black  eyes  and  a  bloody  nose. 

'  Your  loveing  son 

"  PETER  LAMBRIGHT 

"  P.S.  I  knew  they  was  mine  I  had  a  mark  on  them. 
Peter." 

Poor,  impetuous  Peter  —  how  many  battles  were 
ahead  of  him.  Well,  he  forgave  as  quickly  —  that 
was  to  be  remembered. 

Between  Lydia  and  the  silver  lights  up  on  San 
Miniato,  between  her  and  dark-flowing  Arno  below, 
Peter's  face  thrust  itself,  his  face  as  it  had  impressed 
itself  upon  her  in  the  days  they  had  spent  together  in 
her  apartment  after  Churchwell  left  her.  For  she  had 
clung  to  Peter  then.  In  his  little-boy  innocence,  and 
in  his  boundless  happiness  at  being  with  her  again,  his 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  347 

delight  with  the  treasures  she  had  prepared  for  him, 
he  had  been  her  stay  during  those  terrible  days.  She 
had  thrown  herself  with  a  desperate  assumption  of 
gaiety  into  Peter's  pleasures.  But  when  she  had  sent 
him  back  to  school  again,  she  could  not  endure  the 
desolation  of  the  apartment  without  him ;  she  could  not 
endure  the  never-abating  restlessness,  the  incessant, 
feverish  thoughts,  day  and  night,  of  Churchwell. 
Finally,  in  a  moment  of  desperation,  when  she  felt  that 
unless  she  had  an  immediate  change  of  scene  and 
thoughts,  she  must  make  an  end  of  her  own  life,  she 
had  taken  passage  to  Europe,  surprised  Mr.  Van 
Antwerp  in  Paris,  and  persuaded  him  to  bring  her  to 
Italy. 

II 

This  evening  as  she  stood  waiting  till  dinner  should 
be  announced,  yielding  herself  to  the  sad  loveliness  of 
the  Florentine  winter  dusk,  she  had  more  than  the 
thought  of  Florence,  of  Peter,  or  of  Churchwell  — 
who  clung  ever  a  ghost  to  her  side  —  to  occupy  her 
mind.  About  a  week  earlier  an  American  couple  had 
arrived  at  the  Pension  Paggi;  previously,  Lydia  and 
Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  under  the  name  of  Lambert,  had 
been  the  only  Americans  in  the  house.  Except  to  note 
with  a  slight  uneasiness  the  fact  that  the  new  arrivals 
were  Americans,  Lydia  had  paid  no  attention  to  them 
until  she  heard  some  one  refer  to  them  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lambright,  and  learned,  through  inquiries  she 
made  of  Signora  Paggi,  that  they  were  from  the 
American  town  that  had  been  her  father's  early  home. 


348  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

How  extraordinary  that  here  at  Pension  Paggi  in  Flor- 
ence she  should  have  come  upon,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  a  kinsman  of  her  father  I 

For  she  was  convinced  that  he  was  a  kinsman. 
There  was  an  unmistakable  resemblance  in  the  walk, 
the  hands,  in  the  somewhat  gaunt  outlines  of  face  and 
figure,  and  notably  in  a  slight  crookedness,  a  slight 
twisting  to  one  side,  of  the  bridge  of  the  nose,  which, 
curiously,  she  had  marked  first  in  her  father's  beloved 
face  when  she  had  looked  down  on  it  through  the  glass 
lid  of  his  coffin. 

A  prey  to  all  sorts  of  irrational  notions  and  fears, 
she  was  afraid  at  first  the  man  might  discover  her  own 
identity,  and  reveal  to  the  Pension  Paggi,  where  she 
and  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  had  been  treated  with  consid- 
eration and  cordiality,  that  they  were  not  man  and 
wife.  Soon,  however,  she  realised  that  it  was  quite 
unlikely  that  this  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lambright  should 
know  anything  whatever  about  her,  or  be  able  to  dis- 
cover, far  less  disclose,  anything  she  wished  hidden. 

Now,  she  suddenly  decided  to  seek  from  them  some 
knowledge  of  her  father's  early  life  and  of  his  aliena- 
tion from  his  family. 

The  door  into  Mr.  Van  Antwerp's  chamber  opened 
wider,  and,  turning,  she  saw  his  white  shirt-front, 
defined  by  the  black  of  his  dinner-coat,  gleaming  faintly 
in  the  dusk  of  the  room.  He  came  over  to  the  win- 
dow, remarked  that  she  was  looking  unusually  pretty, 
that  he  liked  her  face  without  rouge,  and  kissed  her 
briefly  and  undemonstratively. 

After  dinner  she  went  with  him  to  the  fumoir  where 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  349 

coffee  was  served  to  them,  to  a  young  officer  of  the 
Italian  cavalry,  and  to  a  very  old  Russian  gentleman 
who  had  joined  them.  The  shabby  fumoir  —  whose 
four  long  windows  looked  out  from  the  rear  of  the 
house  on  the  Via  Corso  de'  Tintori  —  with  its  big 
lounge,  its  commodious  chairs,  its  writing  tables,  litter 
of  newspapers  and  periodicals,  and  its  ugly  stove,  was 
the  warmest  and  —  except  to  noses  squeasy  to  tobacco- 
smoke  —  the  most  genuinely  comfortable  room  in  the 
house. 

Lydia  sipped  her  coffee  leisurely,  listening  to  the  talk 
of  the  three  men,  although,  as  they  were  conversing 
mostly  in  French,  she  did  not  understand  much  that  was 
said.  It  felt  good  to  her  to  lean  back  against  the 
cushions  of  the  lounge.  She  was  not  ill,  but  recently 
she  had  been  subject  to  attacks  of  sudden  exhaustion. 
She  went  about  every  morning  sight-seeing  a  little, 
usually  alone,  for  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  was  not  disposed 
to  sight-see,  nor  was  Florence  new  to  him;  in  the  after- 
noons she  drove,  and  often  then  he  accompanied  her; 
but  she  rarely  came  in  from  walk  or  drive  that  she  did 
not  choose  the  ascenseur  rather  than  the  one  easy  flight 
of  stairs  to  her  room.  Very  often  after  the  most 
trifling  exertions  she  would  be  dewed  with  perspiration, 
and  when  a  sharp  sound  struck  on  her  ears  she  would 
feel  a  tingling  of  pain  sweep  the  whole  surface  of  her 
body. 

The  old  Russian  gentleman  inquired,  in  his  halting 
but  chivalrous  English,  if  she  were  perhaps  a  little  ill 
this  evening.  She  shook  her  head,  smiling  brightly  on 
him.  She  thought  him  the  most  charming  old  man  she 


350  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

had  ever  met.  He  was  so  old,  and  his  bleached  old 
countenance  so  purged  of  earthiness,  that  his  constant 
interest  in  her,  his  charming  old  gallantries  to  her,  she 
found  altogether  delightful.  She  could  be  perfectly 
natural  with  him,  responsive,  vivacious,  fanciful,  as  her 
mood  was.  With  the  younger  men  about  her,  who  — 
what  once  would  have  been  a  source  of  gratification  to 
her  —  gave  indisputable  evidence  of  her  attraction  for 
them,  she  held  herself  more  in  reserve. 

When  she  rose  after  the  coffee  service  was  removed, 
the  old  Russian  rose  too  and  insisted  on  accompanying 
her  to  the  drawing  room.  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  re- 
mained in  the  fumolr  with  the  young  cavalry  officer; 
he  seldom  appeared  in  the  drawing  room;  he  was  a 
man  who  enjoyed  men,  or  women  —  never  men  and 
women.  Sometimes  Lydia  wondered,  from  a  way  she 
caught  the  young  officer  now  and  again  looking  at  her, 
if  Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  in  fumoir  confidences,  had  ever 
betrayed  to  him  that  she  was  not  his  wife.  She  con- 
sidered it  by  no  means  impossible. 

Once  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  had  been  high-priest  to  in- 
itiate her  into  the  mysteries  of  an  unknown  world. 
But  mysteries  had  vanished,  and  with  their  vanishing, 
a  large  measure  of  whatever  fascination  he  had  had 
for  her.  His  character,  a  singular  compound,  had 
once  been  itself  a  fascinating  mystery;  there  was  some- 
thing in  him  that  always  suggested  to  her  a  monk  who 
had  forsaken  the  cloister,  turned  worldling;  he  pre- 
sented curious  survivals  of  a  scholarly-trending,  even 
perhaps  ascetic  youth,  but  sport  had  overtaken  and 
supplanted  scholar  in  him.  She  was  never  quite  able 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  351 

to  make  him  out.     However,  she  was  no  longer  inter- 
ested in  even  trying  to  understand  him. 

Since  she  had  been  again  with  Churchwell,  en- 
wrapped—  for  all  the  tragic  ending  of  them  —  in 
those  unforgettable  hours  of  rapturous  love  and  under- 
standing, she  had  found  something  vitally,  and  almost 
unendurably,  disparate  between  herself  and  Mr.  Van 
Antwerp.  He  was  always,  she  knew  now,  in  a  state 
of  greater  or  less  intoxication,  and  though  she  had 
never  seen  him  even  verge  upon  hilarity,  never  seen 
his  white,  carven  face  lose  for  a  moment  its  whiteness, 
its  icy  immobility,  yet  now  she  recognised  readily  his 
states  of  greater  intoxication,  and  there  had  not  lacked 
in  these  weeks  together  in  Italy  certain  moments'  of 
horrid  disenchantment.  Moreover,  a  day  had  arrived 
when  she  did  not  hide  from  herself  that  he  bored  her. 
His  sly  stories,  she  had  once  thought  so  daringly  clever, 
thrice-heard  had  palled  on  her. 

ill 

There  was  a  little  stir  of  pleasant  excitement  as  she 
and  the  old  Russian  entered  the  drawing  room.  With 
her  arm  clinging  in  his  they  formed  a  charming  picture. 
The  Russian,  although  somewhat  stooped  with  his 
great  age,  had  not  lost  the  distinction  of  his  bearing. 
Lydia  was  as  straight  as  a  wand  and  carried  her  head 
with  the  slightly  haughty,  slightly  challenging  air  which 
was  characteristic,  but  there  was  something  soft  and 
faintly  troubled  in  her  glance,  something  blended  with 
her  quick  smiles  that  was  instantly  and  indescribably 
appealing.  From  her  pallor  and  the  hollows  in  her 


352  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

cheeks,  'her  tenure  of  life  appeared  hardly  more  certain 
than  the  old  Russian's. 

Every  one  in  the  room  seemed  anxious  to  pay  some 
little  attention  to  one  or  the  other  of  them.  How 
pleasant  it  was,  Lydia  thought  to  herself.  Yet  how 
secretly  ill-at-ease  their  kind  treatment  made  her  feel ! 
How  different  it  would  all  be,  if  they  knew  —  knew 
who  she  was  and  the  facts  about  her!  She  was  never 
free,  indeed,  from  a  shamed  sense  of  imposing  on 
these  kind  and  delightful  people,  and  the  assumed 
name  she  and  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  were  under  was  of  all 
possible  dissemblings  the  most  hateful  to  her. 

She  was  always  in  demand  for  the  card-table,  but 
this  evening  she  said  she  was  too  tired  to  play.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  was  scarcely  more  tired  than  on 
other  evenings,  but  she  had  a  definite  and  agitating 
plan  in  mind  and  she  must  be  free  to  carry  it  out. 

A  game  was  made  up  without  her  —  the  old  Italian 
colonel,  who  invariably  played,  whoever  did  not  — 
hardly  less  belligerent  in  aspect  at  the  card-table,  one 
could  believe,  than  in  the  old  days  under  Garibaldi; 
the  spirited  but  amiable  young  man  from  Vienna;  the 
Russian  princess,  unpretentious  and  agreeable;  the 
pretty,  white-haired  lady  from  Dublin,  whose  bright 
eyes  gave  false,  bright  promises  of  her  intelligence. 

Lydia  picked  up  a  battered  copy  of  a  Tauchnitz 
novel  from  one  of  the  tables  and  sat  down  near  the 
fire,  a  few  smouldering  knots  of  wood  in  the  big  fire- 
place. The  old  Russian,  after  chatting  with  her  a  few 
minutes,  betook  himself  to  a  stale  copy  of  a  Parisian 
journal  he  had  found  somewhere  in  the  room,  and  pres- 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  353 

ently  fell  into  a  doze  over  it.  A  British  matron,  of  the 
type  sans  peur,  sans  reproche,  was  knitting  rigorously 
at  an  interminable  strip  of  white  lace.  A  Scottish 
spinster  was  entertaining  callers.  The  pretty  daugh- 
ter of  the  pretty  lady  from  Dublin  was  strumming  on 
the  piano.  A  German  couple  had  a  map  of  Italy 
spread  on  a  table  before  them  and  were  mastering  it 
with  Teutonic  thoroughness.  A  gentle  Dane,  profes- 
sor in  the  University  of  Copenhagen,  was  looking  over 
some  Uffizi  photographs. 

With  all  its  occupants,  the  room  was  not  noisy;  its 
hush  was  broken  only  by  the  soft  strumming  on  the 
piano,  the  low  murmur  of  conversation  from  a  distant 
corner  of  the  room,  or  by  an  involuntary  cry  of  joy 
from  the  young  Viennese  when  a  good  hand  was  dealt 
him,  or  an  exclamation  of  fiery  impatience  from  the 
veteran  of  Garibaldi  when  his  partner,  the  Irish  lady, 
led  from  the  wrong  suit,  which  was  not  infrequently. 
Lydia  looked  up  at  a  framed  legend  that  hung  on  the 
wall 'near  her  which  recorded, 

Pension  Paggi  Honoree  Dans  L?  An  18  —  De  La 
Presence  Des  Souverains  D'ltalie. 

Ah,  Pension  Paggi !  There  had  never  been  any- 
thing else  in  her  life  of  its  kind  so  pleasurable  as  her 
weeks  at  the  Pension  Paggi.  .  .  .  But  now  it  must 
soon  be  over,  Pension  Paggi  —  and  Italy !  And  her 
life,  her  future  life,  what  of  that?  .  .  .  Her  prob- 
lems grew  not  easier  but  more  difficult  as  time  pro- 
gressed. 

Across  the  room,  on  a  sofa  and  quite  alone,  also 


354  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

pretending  to  read,  sat  Mrs.  Lambright.  Lydia  sent 
furtive,  perturbed  glances  in  her  direction,  trying  to 
summon  courage  to  walk  across  the  room  and  introduce 
herself.  The  lady  was  unmistakably  a  trifle  piqued. 
The  old  guests  at  Pension  Paggi  had  not  opened  arms 
to  her  quickly  enough,  quite  warmly  enough,  perhaps! 
How  fortunate  Lydia  had  been  —  unworthy  she  I  — 
she  blushed  at  the  thought  —  to  have  been  so  swiftly 
gathered  into  Pension  Paggi's  fold.  She  got  up,  hold- 
ing her  white  cloak  around  her,  smiled  on  the  card- 
table,  which  gave  back  smiles  in  return,  glanced  around 
at  the  different  hands,  and,  a  vivid  spot  of  colour  in 
each  cheek,  made  her  way  to  the  sofa  where  Mrs.  Lam- 
bright  sat. 

"  Our  names  —  I  am  Mrs.  Lambert  —  are  so  simi- 
lar ...  and  compatriots  ...  we  should  know  each 
other,  should  we  not?"  she  said,  smilingly  extending 
her  hand. 

Mrs.  Lambright,  a  voluminous  blonde,  responded 
cordially.  Her  husband,  she  explained,  was  writing 
letters.  He  wasn't  well,  and  Florence  they  found  too 
cold.  It  had  been  much  milder,  a  former  winter  they 
had  spent  here.  They  were  considering  leaving  for 
Egypt,  but  then  you  froze  to  death  in  Cairo,  too,  of 
course,  when  it  was  cold  there  .  .  .  and  so  on. 

Lydia  listened  perfunctorily,  while  she  gave  herself 
another  moment  to  gather  her  scattered  forces.  Her 
cheeks  were  burning.  "  There  used  to  be  —  Lam- 
brights  in  the  town  where  I  lived  —  Kingsville,"  she 
remarked  carelessly  when  there  was  a  moment's  pause. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  355 

The  woman  beside  her  gave  a  slight  start.  "  Kings- 
ville!  Are  you  from  Kings ville?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  I  lived  in  Kingsville  when  I  was  a  child. 
.  .  .  There  was  a  Professor  Lambright  there  —  at 
Ransom  College." 

Mrs.  Lambright  raised  her  eyebrows  and  laughed 
lightly  and  with  a  little  embarrassment.  "  Oh,  yes  — 
my  husband's  brother,  Girard  Lambright!  " 

Something  closed  tight  around  Lydia's  heart.  Her 
father's  brother,  here,  only  a  few  yards  from  her! 
She  had  not  dreamed  it  could  be  nearer  than  cousin ! 

"  Did  you  know  him  ? "  Mrs.  Lambright  asked. 
"  Or  his  wife?  "  she  added  with  a  significant  smile. 

"  I  knew  them  a  little  ...  or  at  least  their  little 
girl." 

"Oh!"  She  looked  at  Lydia  with  increasing  in- 
terest. "  The  child,  yes!  Was  she  pretty?  " 

Lydia  smiled  faintly.     "  Not  very.  .  .  ." 

"  The  mother  was  a  beauty!  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  her.  .  .  ." 

"  You  say  you  don't  live  in  Kingsville  now?  " 

"  No,  I  left  there  years  ago." 

"  He's  dead  —  Girard  Lambright.  Did  you  know 
it?" 

"  Yes,  I'd  heard  it." 

'  You  knew  about  his  wife,  of  course?  He  ruined 
his  life  for  that  woman!  " 

"  I  remember  there  were  rumours  .  .  .  but  I  don't 
think  I  knew  anything  definite.  ...  I  was  only  a 
child.  .  .  ,  She  killed  herself,  at  last,  I  think  I  heard." 


356  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

"  Pity  she  didn't  do  it  earlier,  before  she  murdered 
Mrs.  Lambright!  " 

"What!" 

"  Oh,  it  amounted  to  that!  She  absolutely  died  of 
a  broken  heart — Mrs.  Lambright,  I  mean,  Girard's 
and  my  husband's  mother  —  all  the  disgrace  of  the 
thing!  You  didn't  know  the  facts,  then?  Why,  we 
heard  it  all  came  out  in  Kingsville  and  that  the  woman 
was  completely  ostracised  there !  " 

u  She  was  an  invalid,"  Lydia  interposed  feebly. 
"What  was  her  history?  I  don't  know,  except  the 
vague  rumours." 

"  Oh,  she  was  simply  notorious !  English,  you 
know,  or  English  and  French.  Her  mother  was  a 
French  dancer,  and  notorious  before  her,  thoroughly 
depraved.  After  she  lost  her  youth  and  beauty,  she 
turned  virtuous,  nominally  virtuous  at  least,  the  mother 
I  mean,  married  an  Englishman,  went  to  England  to 
live,  and  then  this  daughter,  Aimee,  who  married 
Girard,  and  who  was  kept  in  a  convent  in  France  dur- 
ing her  childhood,  outdid  her  mother  in  notoriety. 
When  she  became  perfectly  abandoned,  Girard  had  the 
misfortune  to  meet  her,  and  became  infatuated  with 
her!" 

Lydia  was  listening  with  terrified  attention.  Her 
aunt  —  oh,  how  queer,  her  aunt !  —  had  paused  for 
breath. 

"  He  was  a  perfectly  impractical  man,  governed  by 
the  most  quixotic  impulses,  just  the  man  for  that  sort 
of  woman  to  get  hold  of.  Of  course  she  worked  on 
his  feelings,  and  he  thought  it  was  the  noble  thing  to 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  357 

marry  her  and  try  to  rehabilitate  her  —  absurd,  you 
know;  you  can't  rehabilitate  a  woman  of  that  sort! 
But  she  was  clever!  They  said  to  meet  her  you 
wouldn't  know  she'd  ever  had  a  vicious  thought.  The 
bomb  burst  when  Belle  Lambright  came  home  a  few 
weeks  after  Girard  and  his  wife.  She  had  been  abroad 
with  her  husband  for  several  years  —  the  same  time 
Girard  was  abroad  —  and  they'd  learned  everything 
about  the  woman.  Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  all  the 
excitement!  I  wasn't  married  then,  but  Judge  Lam- 
bright's  grounds  and  my  father's  adjoined.  It  nearly 
killed  the  Lambrights !  There  the  woman  was  — 
right  in  the  house  —  one  of  them,  so  to  speak  —  and 
going  to  have  a  child !  Heaven  knows  whose  child !  " 

Lydia's  lips  blanched.  "  Whose  child?  It  was  his, 
wasn't  it?  —  her  husband's?"  she  faltered,  striving  to 
force  a  smile. 

"Whose?"  An  expression  of  amusement  crossed 
Mrs.  Lambright's  broad,  pink  face.  "  Well,  I  guess 
Girard  Lambright  would  have  been  delighted  if  he 
could  have  been  sure  he  was  the  father!  " 

The  room  grew  black  before  Lydia's  eyes.  The 
voices  from  the  card-table,  bidding  in  more  or  less 
broken  English,  "  one  heart  " — "  two  diamonds  " — 
"  no-trumps  " —  came  to  her  from  across  some  vast 
abyss.  Her  father,  her  dear  father  whom  she  had 
walked  with  on  the  River  Road,  whose  poor  wasted 
hand  she  had  held  in  hers  that  winter  dusk  when  he 
had  looked  out  to  see  the  dawn  of  Kingsville  come  for 
the  last  time  —  was  not  her  father!  The  last  props 
of  her  existence  had  fallen  from  under  her. 


358  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

And  it  was  her  mother  who  had  doomed  her  father 
to  suffer  what  he  must  have  suffered,  her  mother  who 
had  doomed  her  to  suffer  what  she  was  suffering  now ! 

IV 

"  Judge  Lambright  ordered  them  out  of  the  house !  " 
the  woman  beside  her  was  saying.  "  Belle  and  the 
other  sisters  were  in  perfect  accord  with  their  father 
—  very  spirited  girls  —  like  the  Judge.  My  husband 
was  several  years  younger  than  Girard.  He  was  at 
college,  and  so  of  course  wasn't  forced  to  take  a  stand 
one  way  or  the  other,  at  the  time." 

"You  spoke  of  the  mother  —  that  it  killed  her," 
Lydia  ventured  in  a  voice  that  to  her  own  ears  sounded 
hollow  and  far  away. 

"  Yes,  she  took  it  harder  than  any  of  them,  though 
in  a  different  way.  She  was  one  of  those  mild  women 
who  never  would  believe  evil  of  any  one  and  she  was 
wrapped  up  in  Girard  —  actually  wouldn't  believe  the 
things  they  told  her  of  the  woman  he  married  and 
wanted  the  Judge  and  the  girls  to  do  nothing.  She 
used  to  write  to  Girard  as  long  as  she  lived,  and  when 
she  died  she  left  him  his  share  of  her  property.  But 
to  the  day  he  died  Judge  Lambright  never  allowed 
Girard's  name  to  be  mentioned  to  him." 

"  There  was  a  Miss  Barker,  I  remember,  who  used 
to  live  with  the  Lambrights  in  Kingsville,"  Lydia  said 
slowly,  with  a  great  effort. 

"Oh,  yes,  Barker!  Sour  woman,  but  extremely 
loyal  to  Girard.  After  she  came  back  from  Kingsville, 
no  one  could  ever  get  a  word  out  of  her  about  Girard's 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  359 

wife.  She  wouldn't  discuss  her  at  all,  or  the  life  they 
led.  You  see  old  Mrs.  Lambright  brought  Barker  up, 
made  a  little  more  than  a  servant  of  her,  and  when  she 
was  dying,  she  asked  her  to  go  to  Kingsville  and  look 
after  Girard's  house.  Of  course,  I  always  felt  some 
sympathy  for  poor  Girard  —  he  was  the  victim  of  a  de- 
signing, depraved  woman  —  but  one  thing  I  never 
could  condone  in  him  — " 

"  What  was  that?  "  asked  Lydia,  quivering  with  fear 
yet  eager  to  hear. 

"His  naming  that  child  —  for  his  mother  — 
Lydia!" 

'  Yes,"  Lydia  agreed,  a  wraithlike  smile  illuming 
her  pale  face  and  quickly  dying  out  again.  She  had 
never  before  known  she  was  named  for  any  one  in 
particular.  It  came  to  her  in  a  rush  of  feeling  that 
hereafter  there  would  be  a  little  tender  association  to 
her  of  her  own  name  with  the  name  of  that  good  and 
forgiving  woman,  her  father's  mother.  .  .  .  Was  he 
her 'father? 

"  Pardon  me  for  suggesting  it,  but,  if  you  don't  mind, 
don't  mention  Kingsville  or  knowing  the  Lambrights  to 
my  husband  when  you  meet  him !  He's  in  a  very  nerv- 
ous state  at  present.  He  didn't  know  of  Girard's 
death  till  several  years  after  it  occurred  —  I'm  sorry 
he  ever  heard  of  it  at  all  —  and  he's  been  more  or  less 
possessed  of  an  idea  ever  since  that  he,  or  some  of 
them,  ought  to  have  looked  him  up  and  effected  a  recon- 
ciliation —  purely  morbid  idea,  of  course,  as  I  tell  him 
constantly,  but  you  know  how  people  are  when  they  get 
in  a  low  state  of  health  and  possessed  of  an  idea  of  that 


360  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

kind  —  you   can't  reason   with   them !     By   the   way, 
what  became  of  the  child?     We  never  heard." 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  She  left  Kingsville  .  .  .  dis- 
appeared." 

"  Went  the  way  of  the  mother,  doubtless !  " 
"  Doubtless !  "  Lydia  repeated  in  a  low  voice,  and 
then  .  .  .  her  body  floated  off  into  space.  .  .  .  What 
was  happening  to  her?  Every  one  was  talking  at  once, 
at  first  loud,  and  then  low.  .  .  .  Peter  —  was  so  far 
away  —  in  America  —  thousands  of  miles  away!  — 
What  would  become  of  Peter?  .  .  .  She  was  lying 
against  some  one's  soft  breast,  and  she  saw  indistinctly 
the  scared  face  of  the  young  Viennese  somewhere  near 
her  .  .  .  and  then  her  own  bed  chamber  in  Pension 
Paggi  .  .  .  and  her  narrow  bed  .  .  .  Caterina,  the 
maid,  chafing  her  feet  .  .  .  tears,  she  could  not  help, 
coursing  down  her  cheeks  .  .  .  and  beautiful  Signora 
Paggi  bending  over  her,  with  her  face  of  an  angel,  mur- 
muring to  her  with  all  the  rich  tenderness  of  her  noble 
heart — "  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  I  am  so  sorry!  " 


CHAPTER  II 


LYDIA  did  not  know  whether  she  had  fainted  or 
not,  but  she  knew  she  had  suffered  some  sort  of 
collapse,  and  when  she  recalled  her  talk  with  Mrs. 
Lambright,  and  realised  what  had  happened  to  her  she 
felt  that  she  could  never  again  see  any  of  the  people 
at  the  Pension.  She  allowed  no  one  to  enter  her  room 
except  Caterina,  Signora  Paggi,  and  Mr.  Van  Antwerp, 
and  her  concern  with  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  was  merely  to 
induce  him  to  make  arrangements  for  their  immediate 
departure. 

A  few  mornings  later,  they  were  seated  in  an  omni- 
bus on  their  way  to  take  the  early  morning  train  to 
Rome.  She  had  a  last  glimpse  of  the  soft,  dark  beauty 
of  Signora  Paggi,  could  still  feel  the  warm,  last  pres- 
sure of  her  tender  hands  ...  a  glimpse  of  Caterina, 
weeping  and  waving.  .  .  .  Now  Pension  Paggi  became 
a  blur  to  her  as  she  looked  back  through  the  windows 
of  the  omnibus  .  .  .  she  could  barely  distinguish  the 
servants  still  clustered  before  the  door  .  .  .  then  a 
corner  turned  and  Pension  Paggi  .  .  .  Lungarno  — 
vanished. 

Her  eyes  caught  sight  in  another  moment  of  Perseus 
holding  aloft  the  Medusa  head,  and  then  the  lovely 
Loggia  vanished  .  .  .  Piazza  Vittoria  Emanuele  cut 

361 


362  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

across  .  .  .  Via  Strozzi  traversed  .  .  .  Santa  Maria 
Novella's  marbles  glistening  in  the  morning  sun  .  .  . 
then  all  that  had  meant  Florence  to  her  —  vanished. 
A  thought  flitted  through  her  mind  of  the  morning  she 
had  left  Kingsville  and  looked  back,  her  eyes  lingering 
on  its  spires  that  were  glistening  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine. How  little  she  had  dreamed,  then,  that  she 
would  never  again  look  on  those  church-spires.  How 
full  of  hope  she  had  been !  How  steeped  in  beautiful 
girlish  dreams !  How  simple  life  had  looked  to  her, 
and  how  easy  and  certain  of  conquest  the  big,  unknown 
world  as  she  waved  good-bye  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Poole. 
.  .  .  And  now,  rattling  over  the  stones  of  Florence  this 
winter  morning,  sunlit  too,  how  intricate  and  baffling 
life  was,  whichever  way  she  turned  how  impossible  of 
happy  solution. 

Her  eyes  followed  absently  all  day  long  what  passed 
outside  the  car  window.  Already  Florence  had  be- 
come almost  a  dream,  and  it  was  almost  like  a  dream 
that  she  was  approaching  Rome.  It  came  back  to  her 
with  faint  amusement  how  in  their  provincial  pride 
Kingsvillians  had  been  wont  to  compare  Kingsville  on 
her  seven  hills  to  great  Rome  on  its  famed  seven  hills. 
How  that  comparison  had  fired  her  childish  imagina- 
tion. Rome !  The  Eternal  City ! 

But  now  that  she  was  actually  approaching  Rome, 
her  mind  was  passionately  preoccupied.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  but  what  she  had  heard  of  her  mother 
—  of  her  grandmother !  She  was  descended  from  a 
line  of  courtesans.  It  made  her  own  life  loathsome  to 
her  in  a  way  she  could  not  before  even  have  imagined. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  363 

What  if  Peter,  half  unconsciously  suspecting  but  still, 
with  the  generosity  of  childhood,  adoring  her,  should 
grow  up,  and  learn  about  her  what  she  had  learned 
about  her  mother  at  the  Pension  Paggi !  If  his  adora- 
tion should  turn  to  the  feeling  she  harboured  now 
against  her  mother.  .  .  .  He  had  written  her  in  one 
of  those  exuberant  childish  outbursts  of  homesickness 
that  often  occurred  in  his  letters  — "  I  wish  you  would 
have  a  picture  taken  and  put  it  in  a  locket.  I  would 
always  have  it  next  my  heart."  How  could  she  bear 
it,  if  the  image  of  her  beloved  face  should  some  day 
become  a  shame  and  a  horror  to  him  I 

II 

Mr.  Van  Antwerp  touched  her  lightly  on  the  arm. 

"  Perugia !  "  He  leaned  slightly  over  her  and 
pointed  out  the  window  to  a  city  on  a  high  hill. 

Perugia ! 

She  smiled  absently,  and  following  his  pointing  fin- 
ger saw  a  city  seated  on  a  hill,  like  a  pictured  city,  a 
city  in  an  old  engraving.  Perugia.  She  hardly  took 
it  in. 

Occasionally  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  looked  up  from  the 
newspaper  he  was  reading,  and  bestowed  a  light  caress 
on  her,  teased  her  a  little,  called  her  "  Our  Lady  of 
Sighs,"  then  he  went  back  again  to  his  newspapers. 

As  they  approached  Rome,  a  first  sight  of  a  Roman 
pine,  lifting  on  high  its  great  emerald  head,  shocked 
her  with  its  beauty  into  a  momentary  joy. 

Monte  Rotondo  .  .  .  and  then,  soon  after,  the  first 
glimpse  of  St.  Peter's  dome.  ...  In  the  lives  of  most 


364  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

men  and  women  that  first  glimpse  of  St.  Peter's  — 
Rome  I  —  was  a  moment  to  remember  for  years  after- 
wards. But  now  to  her  all  precious  realisations  of  the 
present  were  denied. 

in 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  never 
questioned  her,  never  seemed  curious,  and  was  never 
outwardly  perturbed  at  a  change  in  her  she  knew  he 
could  not  have  failed  to  notice.  However,  he  sug- 
gested now,  as  indeed  he  had  suggested  in  Florence, 
though  he  had  never  insisted  on  it,  that  she  should  see 
a  physician.  He  even  professed  a  willingness  to  ac- 
company her  to  see  the  sights  of  Rome,  but  she  refused 
this  as  decisively  as  she  had  refused  his  suggestion  of  a 
physician.  She  knew  that  he  detested  sight-seeing,  and 
that  he  would  speedily  find  ways  —  other  than  sights  — 
to  occupy  himself  here,  as  he  found  ways  to  occupy  him- 
self in  other  foreign  cities,  whether  or  not  he  had  busi- 
ness interests  in  them.  Moreover,  his  presence  gave 
no  especial  comfort  to  her;  on  the  whole  she  preferred 
to  be  alone,  with  her  own  thoughts,  miserable  as  they 
were. 

Sometimes  she  sat  almost  a  whole  day  at  the  window 
in  her  room  in  the  little  hotel  in  the  Via  Nazionale, 
thinking  and  thinking  of  her  present  situation  and  of 
her  past,  watching  with  tepid  interest  the  busy  street 
outside  —  nursemaids,  long,  gorgeously-coloured  rib- 
bons streaming  from  their  caps,  the  Bersaglieri,  topped 
with  their  queer,  ridiculous  cock's-plumage.  Small,  ill- 
conditioned  horses  all  day  long  and  more  than  half  the 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  365 

night  toiled  up  the  steep  hill  of  the  Quirinal  on  the 
slope  of  which  the  little  hotel  was  situated,  often  slip- 
ping on  the  wet  paving-stones,  volleys  of  abuse  pouring 
out  on  them  as  they  struggled  up  to  their  wretched 
bleeding  shins.  This  was  Rome.  She  scarcely  real- 
ised it  more  than  this.  ...  If  she  leaned  out  of  her 
window  she  could  see  a  little  way  down  the  street,  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  tall  shaft  of  an  ancient  column 
rising  from  Trajan's  Forum.  Quirinal!  Trajan's 
Forum !  What  words  of  magic  they  had  once  been  to 
her. 

Try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  revitalise  Rome. 
It  had  been  more  alive  to  her  when  a  child  she  climbed 
the  hills  of  Kingsville  with  Rome  in  her  mind  than  now 
when  she  climbed  its  own  hills,  wandered  about  its  vast 
Forum  Romanum,  gazed  at  its  broken  columns,  knew 
that  her  steps  were  following  the  Via  Sacra,  knew  that 
she  stood  on  the  threshold  of  what  once  had  been  great 
Caesar's  house,  or  Nero's  golden  house;  now  that  she 
passed  under  triumphal  arches,  heard  murmurs  all 
about  her  of  Peter  and  of  Paul.  Yes,  down  that  hill 
came  Cicero,  there  walked  and  jested  Horace,  along 
this  Appian  Way  moved  a  sumptuous  Roman  triumph, 
yonder  flitted  Vestal  virgins,  on  this  spot,  where  she 
stood  in  the  great  arena  of  the  crumbling  Coliseum, 
quivering  Christian  martyrs  crouched,  hearkening  to  the 
shouts  of  "  The  Christians  to  the  lions !  "  But  never 
once  in  these  soft,  misting  spring  days  was  she  shaken 
out  of  herself.  Her  unhappiness  overshadowed  to  her 
even  Rome. 


3 66  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

IV 

The  old  Russian  at  the  Pension  Paggi  had  urged  her 
to  visit  the  garden  of  the  Villa  d'Este  at  Tivoli,  and 
several  times  since  their  arrival  in  Rome,  she  had  pro- 
posed to  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  that  they  should  go  there 
together.  She  had  not  asked  or  wished  him  to  go  with 
her  elsewhere,  but  she  felt  a  little  timid  at  the  idea  of 
making  this  excursion  outside  Rome  alone.  He  had 
smiled,  teased  her  a  little,  and  put  her  off.  He  had 
discovered  acquaintances  in  Rome,  and  was  spending 
hours  with  them,  hours  of  every  day  and  every  night, 
just  how  and  just  where  she  did  not  know,  or  inquire, 
any  more  than  he  inquired  of  her  how  she  spent  her 
own  hours. 

It  was  still  early  when  she  left  the  Porta  San  Lo- 
renza  one  morning  for  a  solitary  journey  to  Tivoli.  All 
the  way  from  Rome  she  had  the  tram  almost  to  herself. 
The  day  was  slightly  overcast,  but  as  she  looked  out  of 
the  tram  window,  out  over  the  Campagna  through 
which  her  way  lay,  miles  and  miles  of  waste,  desolation, 
only  a  Roman  pine  here  and  there,  or  an  arch  of  the 
ancient  aqueduct,  gradually  she  felt  something  of  the 
pathetic  grace  of  the  lonely  Campagna  stealing  softly 
into  her  heart.  She  felt  herself  in  some  obscure  way 
in  sympathy  with,  even  comforted  by,  these  pensive 
wastes,  this  great  wash  of  grass  and  dull  sky  that  closed 
her  in  on  all  sides,  like  a  sea. 

The  sun  struggled  through  the  clouds  as  the  tram 
approached  Tivoli.  The  tramway  mounted  higher  and 
higher,  through  olive  groves  whose  gnarled  trees  with 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  367 

their  grey-green  leaves,  silver  now  in  the  sun,  moved 
her  to  the  delight  that  the  silvery  olive  groves  on  the 
hills  about  Florence  had  moved  her  to,  the  delight  that 
trees  above  everything  else  in  nature  had  always  moved 
her  to. 

When  she  stepped  out  of  the  car  at  the  gate  of 
Tivoli,  she  was  sensible  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks 
of  a  good  feeling  of  hunger.  Her  watch  showed  her 
it  was  almost  eleven  o'clock,  and  she  asked  a  facchmo, 
one  of  the  importunate  hangers-about  at  the  Porta 
Santa  Croce,  the  way  to  a  place  where  she  could  get 
lunch. 

The  sunshine  grew  brighter  and  as  she  climbed  a 
steep  hill,  stopping  now  and  again  to  rest,  and  wound 
her  way  through  narrow  ancient  streets,  she  breathed 
more  easily,  the  choking  in  her  throat  and  the  oppres- 
sion on  her  lungs  were  a  little  lightened.  An  old 
gaiety,  long  a  stranger  there,  stirred  in  her  heart. 

It  was  a  rather  dirty  place  she  had  been  directed  to 
for  her  lunch,  in  the  central  Piazza  of  the  town.  Hens 
ran  about  on  the  tiled  floor,  scurrying  in  and  out  of  the 
door,  sometimes  almost  under  her  skirts.  But  nothing 
annoyed  her.  The  lunch  seemed  to  her  appetising  and 
excellent.  And  it  seemed  friendly  and  good  to  have 
the  hens  cackling  about  as  she  ate  her  omelette,  her 
macaroni  —  ai  pomi  d'oro  —  her  beefsteak,  and 
drank  her  glass  of  pale  amber  Lacrima  ChristL  She 
did  not  feel  in  the  least  lonely  here  in  this  homely  little 
ristorante  she  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  till  a  few 
moments  before.  She  did  not  know  exactly  why  she 
should  feel  less  miserable  than  she  had  been  feeling  for 


368  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

many  days,  but  for  some  reason  she  did  feel  a  trifle 
better  and  more  natural  —  the  blessed  sensation  of  the 
beginning  of  recovery  after  a  long,  perilous  illness. 

Her  father  would  have  liked  a  queer  little  place  like 
this  friendly  ristorante.  And  as  the  memory  of  him 
came  to  her  in  this  natural  and  pleasant  way,  it  flashed 
through  her  that,  after  all,  she  had  not  lost  her  father. 
Even  if  he  were  not  her  father,  still  he  was  something 
that  had  been  very  near  and  dear  in  her  life  and  he 
would  always  be.  Just  as  she  would  always  long  to 
feel  that  he  really  was  her  father,  so  doubtless  for  years 
he  had  longed  to  feel  that  she  really  was  his  daughter. 
That  upon  both  their  hearts  had  been  laid  the  same 
burden  of  doubt  and  longing  brought  him  closer  to  her 
and  united  him  to  her  more  tenderly  and  strongly  than 
he  had  ever  been  before.  All  at  once  some  of  the  hor- 
ror she  had  carried  around  with  her  for  days  and  days 
lifted  from  her. 

She  paid  her  bill,  slipped  a  lira  into  the  hand  of  the 
smiling  waiter,  and  with  his  musical,  ardent  "  Ah 
grazie,  grazie,  grazie,  Signora!"  still  sounding  in  her 
ears,  she  stepped  out  again  into  the  noon  sunshine  of 
the  Piazza  del  Plebiscite,  and  made  her  way  to  the 
entrance  of  the  Villa  d'Este. 


She  descended  from  terrace  to  terrace;  peeped  at 
little  half-hidden  lakes,  at  stone  balustrades  and  broken 
images  of  stone  reflected  in  their  lovely  waters; 
glimpsed  mossy  statues  in  cool,  dripping  grottoes; 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  369 

through  a  chink  in  a  wall  of  trees  beheld  St.  Peter's 
dome,  shining  in  the  noon  sun,  far  away  across  the 
Roman  plain  that  stretched  below  her;  she  gazed  en- 
chanted at  a  hundred  fountains  whose  white  jets  rose 
sparkling  in  the  green  gloom  that  enshrined  them;  and 
at  last  she  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  garden  of  Villa 
d'Este  and  looked  back,  up  terrace  after  terrace,  up  the 
long  flights  of  stone  steps  she  had  descended,  looked 
up  through  high,  narrow  walls  of  green,  past  the  grey 
of  stone,  green  of  trees,  jets  of  sparkling  water,  to  the 
white  villa  crowning  it  all,  shining  above,  looking  down 
on  its  tier  on  tier  of  matchless  garden.  .  .  . 

No  one  had  told  her  it  was  like  this ! 

She  slipped  some  money  into  the  willing  fingers  of 
the  custodian,  asked  him  to  leave  her,  and  taking  off 
her  travelling-coat  she  threw  it  across  a  stone  bench, 
embroidered  with  lichens  and  with  little  delicate  grasses 
and  flowers,  and  sat  down  on  it. 

She  was  alone  in  the  garden  —  a  garden  that  had 
been  quick  with  almost  four  hundred  springs,  that  had 
been  mellowed  and  blended  by  the  suns  and  dews  of 
almost  four  hundred  summers,  by  the  rains  and  frosts 
of  almost  four  hundred  winters,  a  garden  built  by  the 
great  builders  of  gardens  in  the  age  of  the  Renais- 
sance. .  .  .  Patches  of  sunshine  fell  about  her.  A 
slender  jet  of  water  sprinkled  her  with  its  diamond 
drops  of  spray  where  she  sat.  Tall  cypresses  lifted 
themselves  in  their  gloomy  grandeur  above  her  to  the 
sky.  The  flashing  white  of  the  villa  looked  down  from 
above  —  ah,  she  had  never  seen  or  imagined  a  place 


370  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

like  this !  It  burst  upon  her  that  nothing,  no,  not  even 
her  sins,  could  alienate  from  her  the  great  heritage  of 
the  world's  beauty. 

How  rich  she  was!  She  had  been  banished  from 
Kingsville  —  by  her  own  acts  had  banished  herself  — 
forever.  Even  so,  how  rich  she  was!  Sky,  earth, 
trees,  fountains,  all  this  glory  hers,  too ! 

Some  words  she  had  read  in  "  Leaves  of  Grass," 
long  since,  brief  lines  "  To  a  Common  Prostitute,"  in 
this  moment  of  heightened  consciousness,  winged  their 
way  back  to  her  —  Not  till  the  sun  excludes  you  do  I 
exclude  you.  Not  till  the  waters  refuse  to  glisten  for 
you  and  the  leaves  to  rustle  for  you  .  .  .  and  other 
words  from  somewhere  in  the  same  book  —  Whoever 
you  are,  you  are  he  or  she  for  whom  sun  and  moon 
hang  in  the  sky! 

She  had  mutilated  her  life;  her  mother,  her  mother's 
mother,  they  too,  had  mutilated  their  lives.  In  a  sense, 
she  was  an  outcast,  and  would  be  forever,  from  what 
had  been  so  dear  to  her.  Even  so,  for  her  sun  and 
moon  hung  in  the  sky! 

The  birds  were  silent.  Only  the  dark  cypresses  of 
Villa  d'Este  whispered  softly  above  her  in  the  noon 
stillness.  Lydia's  eyes  rested  on  the  ancient  tessellated 
path  under  her  feet.  Her  sins  passed  in  review  be- 
fore her.  They  assumed  to  her  present  mind  almost 
equal  magnitude;  her  sins  of  the  flesh,  her  ingrati- 
tude of  long  ago  to  the  Pooles,  her  impatience  with 
Peter  and  her  separation  from  him,  and  her  theft  from 
Faidley.  She  could  not  analyse  or  separate  them  now. 
She  did  not  seek  to  palliate  them  to  herself,  She  had! 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  371 

sinned,  sinned  grievously,  put  her  mind  and  body  to 
degraded  uses  .  .  .  been  disloyal,  unclean,  selfish  — 

But  as  she  dwelt  on  her  sins,  still  other  words  came 
to  her  from  that  book  of  Walt  Whitman  —  the  book 
that  in  Kingsville  no  one  had  dared  speak  of  aloud. 
The  words  had  meant  little  to  her  when  she  read  them. 
But  now  they  came  freighted  to  her  —  The  earth  re- 
mains jagged  and  broken  only  to  him  or  her  who  re- 
mains jagged  and  broken.  .  .  . 

If  she  could  cling  to  that,  courage  would  not  fail 
her !  She  wanted  to  stand  up  and  shout  for  gladness. 
She  had  been  liberated  from  a  long  and  terrible  dark- 
ness. The  future  opened  up  before  her,  all  at  once, 
broad,  almost  limitless  in  possibilities,  even  for  herself. 
To  various  souls  various  visions.  If  she  could  cling  to 
this  vision  that  had  been  flashed  on  her  here  in  the  noon 
stillness  and  solitude  of  beautiful  Villa  d'Este,  no 
longer  need  the  earth  remain  jagged  and  broken  to  her, 
because  no  longer  would  she  remain  jagged  and  broken  ! 


CHAPTER  III 


LYDIA  suddenly  lifted  her  head  from  the  pillow. 
It  was  night,  or  early  morning.  What  was  it 
she'd  heard?  —  the  old  fish-man  of  Kingsville  calling 
out  his  fish  in  that  droll,  familiar,  long-drawn-out 
strain  —  "  O — h,  o — h,  I  hab,  I  hab,  I  hab  three 
kinds!" 

Unconsciously,  she  must  have  uttered  some  exclama- 
tion, for  Mr.  Van  Antwerp,  who  had  apparently  just 
come  in,  entered  from  his  adjoining  bedroom.  She 
was  aware  of  his  rather  slight  figure  in  evening  dress 
approaching  her  bed  along  the  path  of  pale  light  that 
streamed  across  the  darkness  of  her  room  from  his  own 
lighted  chamber.  He  seated  himself  on  the  bed  and 
took  her  hand  in  his.  She  was  bewildered,  and  hardly 
knew  where  she  was. 

"What  is  it?  "he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  the  old  fish-man  calling,  the  old  fish- 
man  in  Kingsville !  "  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly.  "  I 
heard  him  plainly!  " 

"What,  my  girl?  What  are  you  saying?  Where 
do  you  think  you  are?  You're  dreaming!  " 

"  No,  I  wasn't  dreaming!     I  heard  him!  " 

Then  she  woke  more  fully,  and  realised  she  must 
have  been  asleep  and  dreaming.  But  her  heart  was 

372 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  373 

still  fluttering.  She  could  still  hear  the  old  darky's 
cry,  as  it  had  sounded  in  her  ears  only  a  moment  be- 
fore —  "  O — h,  o — h,  I  hab,  I  hab  three  kinds !  " 

Outside  her  window  —  all  that  darkness  outside 
was  —  Rome.  She  could  hear  a  poor  horse  slipping 
on  the  paving-stones,  struggling  up  the  hill.  Of  course, 
the  Quirinal  Hill  .  .  .  Rome  .  .  .  Mr.  Van  Antwerp 
sitting  on  the  bed  at  her  side  —  the  other  had  been 
only  a  dream!  But  how  queer,  it  had  been  so  vivid! 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  actually  been  there,  just  a  moment 
since  —  back  in  Kingsville ! 

Mr.  Van  Antwerp  drew  her,  warm  with  sleep,  her 
hair  tumbling  about  her  shoulders,  into  his  arms.  She 
felt  his  cool,  smooth  cheek  against  hers,  and  then  sud- 
denly she  was  entirely  herself,  and  fully  conscious  of 
her  surroundings  and  of  the  significance  of  the  present 
moment.  She  repulsed  him  gently. 

"  Don't,  don't!  "  she  said.  "  I  have  something  to 
tell  you  —  right  away  —  right  now !  I  tried  to  stay 
awake  till  you  came  in,  but  I  must  have  fallen  asleep. 
I  was  so  tired,  packing — " 

"  Packing!  "  he  repeated  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  had  the  maid  help  me,  and  I'm  all  through. 
I  want  to  leave  to-morrow  morning  .  .  .  well,  per- 
haps it's  morning  now  —  this  morning,  then,  for  Na- 
ples. I'm  going  —  home.  There's  a  steamer  to- 
morrow. I  want  to  take  it !  " 

H 

"  What  is  this  —  whim,  my  girl?  I  have  arranged 
for  our  passage  on  the  boat  two  weeks  from  to-morrow. 


374  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

And  I've  made  other  —  arrangements  —  it  isn't  — 
convenient  —  for  me  — " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go  now !  "  she  broke  in.  "  I 
want  to  go  home  alone !  It's  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  —  I'm  going  ...  to  leave  you,  for  all  the 
time—" 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked,  in  his  rapid,  muf- 
fled utterance.  She  felt  that  his  hands  holding  hers 
were  not  quite  steady,  and  in  the  half  light  she  could 
discern  his  white  face,  only  a  few  inches  removed  from 
her  own,  working  slightly. 

"  Why,  I'm  breaking  off  —  the  past!  I  wish  every- 
thing good  and  happy  for  you  that  can  possibly  come 
to  you,  but  as  soon  as  it's  morning  I'm  going  to  leave 
you,  forever — " 

"  In  what  have  I  been  remiss,  Lydia?  "  he  asked,  his 
hands  tightening.  But  before  she  could  answer,  he  had 
answered  himself,  self-reproachfully.  "  In  much,  I 
know!" 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,  it  isn't  that!  It's  just —  I  can't 
live  this  way  any  longer !  " 

"  I've  never  spied  on  you,  Lydia.  I've  trusted  you 
completely.  .  .  ." 

She  winced. 

"  But  I've  felt,  ever  since  you  came  to  me  in  Paris, 
the  change  in  you.  I've  recognised  that  you  were 
very  —  unhappy  .  .  .  preoccupied.  Be  honest  with 
me,  Lydia,  have  I  failed  to  hold  your  interest?  Are 
you  —  in  love  with  some  one?  Is  it  that?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't  that  ...  it  isn't  that  —  making 
me  leave  you !  " 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  375 

They  were  silent  an  instant. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  live  any  longer  —  in  this  degrada- 
tion—" 

"  You're  too  intelligent,  too  —  enlightened,  Lydia," 
he  interrupted,  "  not  to  know  that  there's  quite  as  much 
degradation,  if  you  call  it  that,  in  wedlock!  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know.  We've  talked  of  all  that. 
I  know  that  many  married  women  are  only  '  legalised 
prostitutes,'  as  you  call  them,  but  it's  all  the  other 
things  that  grow  out  of  this  sort  of  life  /  lead !  I  don't 
know,  I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  understand  clearly  just 
how  far  people  have  a  right  to  give  up  to  the  desires 
of  the  flesh  that  drive  them  —  but  it's  the  other  things, 
the  things  that  grow  out  of  such  a  life  as  mine  —  the 
deception,  the  lying,  and  .  .  .  and  everything  ...  all 
the  other  degradations  that  follow  inevitably!  The 
married  woman,  even  though  she  may  be  a  '  legalised 
prostitute,'  doesn't  have  to  resort  to  all  the  subterfuges 
that  a  woman  —  like  I  am,  does  .  .  .  she  doesn't 
have  to  become  so  corrupt  in  all  the  rest  of  her  nature  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  you're  very  corrupt,  dear!  "  he  said 
to  her,  smiling  faintly.  "  You're  very  sweet  to  me, 
my  girl!  "  He  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
them,  one  and  then  the  other.  "  You're  the  loveliest 
bit  of  womanhood  that  I've  ever  been  privileged  to 
know!" 

"Oh,  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  a  lot  worse  —  even  than  you 
know !  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  no !  "  he  hushed  her,  kissing  her  on 
the  lips. 


376  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

As  he  kissed  her  she  felt  the  first  small  dent  in  that 
brave  new  armour  she  had  buckled  on  only  a  few  hours 
earlier  in  the  garden  of  Villa  d'Este. 

"  I've  neglected  you,  my  girl  .  .  .  I'm  far  from  im- 
peccable ...  I  formed  habits,  selfish  ones  —  in  my 
years  of  bachelorship,  and  in  my  years  of  married  life 
that  have  been  virtually  bachelorship  .  .  .  I'm  an  un- 
worthy man  —  basely  unworthy  of  the  worthy  father 
who  begat  me  .  .  .  but — "  He  broke  off,  leaned 
over  and  gathered  her  close  to  him.  "  I  can't  give  you 
up,  my  girl,  you're  in  my  blood,  my  brain  !  I  can't  give 
you  up,  my  lass !  "  he  added,  in  a  barely  audible  whis- 
per. 

Ill 

"You  mustn't  try  to  dissuade  me!  "  she  protested, 
struggling  to  resist  him,  and  to  resist  herself.  "  Oh, 
I  don't  pretend  that  I  see  the  truth  even  now  in  a  great 
white  blaze,  or  anything  like  that  —  I  suppose  only 
great  minds  see  the  truth  that  way.  I  only  see  a  little 
glimmer  of  truth  —  what  seems  to  me  truth  —  but 
you  must  let  me  follow  that  —  that  glimmer  1  "  she 
faltered.  "  It's  taken  me  such  a  long  time  to  realise 
that  we  have  to  renounce  what's  dear  to  us  in  order  to 
gain  what's  dearer  —  dearest  of  all  —  self-respect,  and 
the  respect  of  others!  I've  heard  it,  and  read  it,  all 
my  life  .  .  .  and  yes,  I've  known  it  all  my  life  .  .  . 
but  it's  never  had  any  force  with  me  before  I  There's 
a  Russian  proverb,  *  As  the  character  is,  so  is  the 
fate !  ' —  I've  felt  sometimes  fate  was  unjust  to  me, 
but  at  last  I've  realised  what  that  proverb  means  — 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  377 

I've  made  my  own  fate!  My  character  has  been  my 
fate !  And  I  seem  to  see,  now,  what  I  never  did  see 
plainly  before  —  why  the  world  clings  to  its  Christs 
as  it  does  —  to  the  men  who  come  to  declare  to  us  we 
must  lose  our  life  to  save  it!  Perhaps  the  doctrine 
wasn't  new  to  the  world  even  when  Jesus  Christ  came 
to  teach  it;  men  have  to  be  told  it  over  and  over.  He 
only  re-enunciated  it  for  them,  but  he  gave  up  his  life 
to  emphasise  it!  " 

She  was  almost  sobbing. 

"  Oh,  I  know  how  it  seems  to  you  —  my  setting  my- 
self up  as  a  spiritual  director  —  how  ridiculous  and  — 
profane !  "  She  was  holding  him  away  from  her,  at 
the  same  time  holding  to  his  shaking  hands  supplicat- 
ingly.  "  But  I've  got  to  tell  you  how  things  seem  to 
me  now  .  .  .  why  I'm  leaving  you  I  ...  I  love 
luxury  ...  no  one  ever  loved  it  better,  and  I  love  to 
see  the  beautiful  places  in  the  world,  and  to  have  an 
existence  full  of  colour  and  romance  and  excitement 
...  I  was  born  craving  and  adoring  such  things  .  .  . 
but  I've  got  to  give  them  all  up  now  ...  all  those  de- 
sires and  leanings  .  .  .  I've  got  to  earn  a  living  again, 
any  way  I  can,  honestly,  for  my  little  boy  and  my- 
self. .  .  ." 

'  You're  not  strong  enough  now,  my  girl!  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am!  My  body's  not  ill,  except  as  my 
mind  has  made  it  so !  It's  the  '  maladies  of  the  soul ' 
that  have  been  killing  me !  I'm  stronger  already  — 
now  that  I've  made  my  decision.  I'll  soon  be  well !  " 

Except  this  one  argument  regarding  her  physical 
strength,  he  offered  no  arguments  against  the  decision 


378  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

she  had  announced;  no  reproaches,  no  criticism  or  even 
comments  on  all  she  had  said  to  him.  He  only  pleaded 
with  her,  with  low-voiced,  persistent,  passionate  inten- 
sity, pleaded  with  her  to  remain  in  the  relation  she  bore 
him.  When  grey  morning  twilight  succeeded  the  dark- 
ness of  night  in  the  room,  the  struggle  between  them 
had  not  ended.  Sounds  from  outside,  the  exclamations 
that  punctuate  every  hour  of  Italian  life,  and  the  soft 
cadences  of  Italian  street-chatter,  began  to  rise  from 
below  through  the  open  windows.  There  was  some- 
thing weird  and  even  almost  terrifying  to  her  in  the 
sight  of  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  revealed  in  this  chill  light 
of  dawn,  still  in  his  evening  attire,  his  face  so  strangely 
moved  out  of  its  habitual  calm.  Dissipated  and  inor- 
dinately selfish  undoubtedly  he  was,  in  many  ways  the 
puzzle  to  her  he  had  always  been,  but  she  saw  him  go- 
ing through  an  anguish  such  as  she  had  endured  in  the 
hour  when  she  had  realised  that  Churchwell,  the  one 
person  to  whom  her  heart  had  ever  freely  communi- 
cated, was  lost  to  her  forever.  And  something  of  the 
early  power  he  had  asserted  over  her,  he  reasserted 
now.  And  then  he  could  insure  her  the  material  com- 
forts of  existence.  She  was  very  much  alone  in  the 
world;  if  she  left  him,  she  must  go  forth  again  to  un- 
known but  certain  difficulties. 

But  she  fought  her  fight  —  the  battle  with  him,  and 
the  harder  battle  with  herself.  Sunlight  of  the  spring 
morning  was  breaking  over  Rome,  when  she  stood  up 
before  him  —  shaken  with  pity,  with  something  akin  to 
love  for  him,  with  perilous  drawings  of  her  flesh  to- 
ward him,  but  invincible  to  all  his  pleadings  and  appeal. 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  379 

Steadfastly  she  prepared  to  follow  into  a  new  life  the 
little  flickering  glimmer  of  truth  she  believed  she  had 
discerned  — "  The  earth  remains  }agged  and  broken 
only  to  him  or  her  who  remains  jagged  and  broken!  " 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  FEW  weeks  later,  Lydia  was  seated  in  a  train  mov- 
ing toward  the  great  Southwest.  Peter  was  at 
her  side,  watching  with  intent  interest  all  that  flew  by 
the  car  window.  Occasionally  when  something  espe- 
cially attracted  him,  he  would  turn  to  her  with  an  ex- 
cited, "Look,  Mother!" 

She  was  thinking  as  he  sat  here  at  her  side  that,  no 
-matter  how  long  she  might  live,  she  would  never  for- 
get the  day  of  her  arrival  from  Italy  —  the  moment 
when  in  the  big  bare  reception  room  of  the  Brothers' 
school,  under  the  escort  of  one  of  the  black-skirted 
Brothers,  Peter  appeared  at  the  door  —  his  face 
rimmed  with  dirt,  and  between  his  smiling  red  lips  the 
gap  created  by  a  missing  front  tooth  —  evidently  re- 
cently shed  —  his  blouse  soiled  and  torn,  his  knicker- 
bockers in  sore  need  of  mending  —  but  what  a  light  of 
joy  in  his  clear,  shining,  surprised  eyes  as  he  spied  her, 
under  a  ghastly  pictured  crucifixion,  waiting  for  him! 
Nothing  would  ever  be  more  beautiful  to  her  than  Peter 
at  that  instant  I 

She  had  sold  all  her  possessions  from  which  she 
could  realise  anything,  and  she  had  also  a  little  money 
she  had  accepted,  reluctantly  but  what  seemed  to  her 

380 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  381 

of  necessity,  from  Mr.  Van  Antwerp.  She  and  Peter 
were  on  their  way  to  a  growing  health  resort  in  the 
Southwest,  where  she  had  learned  of  an  opening,  a 
house  to  take  charge  of,  rooms  and  meals  —  a  board- 
ing house  —  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  her  en- 
terprise. 

She  thought  of  her  early  dreams  of  life  —  how  en- 
tirely they  had  excluded  such  an  inglorious  role  for  her- 
self as  the  one  she  was  now  preparing  to  assume. 
Well,  she  had  been  —  worse  things,  far  worse !  She 
tried  never  to  lose  sight  of  that,  to  rejoice  in  the  pres- 
ent opportunity,  and  to  look  forward  hopefully. 
She  had  had  some  experience  in  the  practical  prob- 
lems of  housekeeping  and  marketing.  She  trusted 
she  would  prove  equal  to  the  undertaking  ahead  of 
her. 

The  train  was  passing  through  what  seemed  to  her 
a  very  ugly  state,  dotted  with  hideous  new  buildings, 
frame  buildings  or  buildings  constructed  of  cement 
blocks,  a  flat,  treeless  country,  under  a  cloudless  sky, 
and  a  ceaseless  wind  blowing  over  it.  She  hoped  that 
the  point  of  their  destination  —  it  was  more  than  a 
day's  journey  yet  before  they  reached  it  —  would  be 
more  attractive  than  the  country  they  were  journeying 
through  to  it.  She  wondered  if  Peter  found  this 
new  country  disappointing.  Probably  not.  He  was 
seeing  so  much  he  had  never  seen  before,  even 
Indians  —  tame  Indians,  in  white  men's  garments, 
but  Indians! 

Peter  had  never  once  questioned  her  about  his 
father,  or  asked  her  to  tell  him  any  of  the  old  Indian 


382  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

tales,  since  that  evening,  while  they  were  still  living 
among  the  washerwomen  in  the  West  Thirties,  when 
he  had  confided  to  her  the  taunts  of  the  "  kids."  She 
was  afraid  the  "  kids "  had  implanted  in  his  mind 
doubts  that  would  never  be  uprooted. 

Ah,  no  knowing  what  thoughts  were  hidden  back 
of  those  eyes  looking  out  of  the  car  window,  those 
pathetically  trustful  young  eyes,  so  eager  for  the  ad- 
venture of  life,  so  unafraid  of  it  as  yet !  No  knowing 
what  dreams  in  that  big  tousled  head  of  his  —  dreams 
of  the  life  he  was  going  to  carve  out  for  himself ! 

II 

Well,  she  was  taking  him  with  her  now  to  a  part 
of  the  world  where  barriers  of  social  distinction  were 
not  yet  so  impassable  as  in  older  communities  of  the 
world.  Perhaps  she  and  Peter  might  still  have  a 
chance  of  friends,  the  kind  of  friends  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  know  and  be  associated  with.  Of  course, 
they  would  not  enjoy  a  very  exalted  position  even  in 
this  new  place  to  which  they  were  going,  and  she  would 
be  more  or  less  haunted  always  with  the  fear  that  some 
one  who  knew  things  about  her  which  she  wished  hid- 
den would  appear  and  reveal  them.  Then,  too,  she 
had  not  attained  a  very  great  age  even  yet;  she  was 
by  no  means  drained  of  all  her  hasty  blood  .  .  .  she 
was  not  sure  exactly  how  much  strength  she  could  mus- 
ter to  a  supreme  testing  of  herself.  And,  above  all, 
the  problems  of  existence  still  offered  much  to  perplex 
her;  she  did  not  see  a  clean-cleft  path  which  willy-nilly 


THE  SEAS  OF  GOD  383 

she  should  follow.  She  saw  what  seemed  the  truth, 
as  she  had  told  Mr.  Van  Antwerp  she  saw  it,  merely 
as  a  glimmer,  fluctuating,  dying  down  now  to  the 
smallest,  feeblest-glowing  ember,  now  leaping  briefly 
into  clear  flame. 

But,  at  any  rate,  she  felt,  somehow,  stronger  to 
fight  the  fight  of  life  than  she  had  ever  felt  before. 
She  hoped  devoutly  that  she  would  not  succumb  again, 
weakly  and  shamefully  succumb,  as  it  had  occurred  to 
her  might  happen,  at  some  unexpected  point  of 
attack. 

Her  lips  touched  lightly  Peter's  shock  of  fair  fine 
hair,  a  touch  so  light  that  the  little  boy  was  not  con- 
scious of  it.  His  eyes  were  following  with  unabated 
interest  what  passed  outside  the  car  window,  and 
Lydia's  eyes,  above  his  head,  were  following  what  his 
followed,  looking  out  on  the  wide  windy  prairies 
through  which  they  were  passing.  Life  would  never 
be  entirely  easy  —  evidently  life  was  not  intended  to  be 
that.  But  she  was  going  to  work  hard,  going  to  make 
herself  respected  in  this  new  place  that  was  to  be  their 
home. 

Her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  but  there  was  far 
more  of  happiness  and  hope  in  her  heart  than  of  fear 
and  sorrow.  She  wanted,  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  world  now,  to  save  Peter,  if  she  could,  some  of  the 
humiliations  and  the  sorrow  she  had  known  in  her 
own  life,  and  she  hoped  that  she  would  have  strength 
to  live  henceforth  so  that  in  years  to  come,  if  Peter 
should  ever  learn  things  of  her  past  such  as  she  had 
learned  for  a  certainty  about  her  mother  that  evening 


384  THE  SEAS  OF  GOD 

at  the  Pension  Paggi  in  Florence,  he  would  have  gained 
such  respect  for  her,  that  he  could  still  love  her,  and 
would  be  able  to  forgive  her. 


THE   END 


VAJL-BALLOU   CO.,    BINGHAMTON    AND   NEW  YORK 


A     000130012     8 


